Move On
by Silverweaver
Summary: Scattered across California and beyond, summer is fading for the Cohens. A hiatus fic.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: If you like it, please nag me like I nag you. I am the world's worst self-disciplinarian. Thank you Katie, my suga-licious beat reader, if this is halfway decent attempt at a hiatus fic, it's in no small part down to her. If it's shocking, the grammar scattie, the spelling Britified, than that's down to me. But hey! variety is the spice of life. Allegedly.

* * *

"_No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home."_

_L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_

* * *

Seth regarded the motorbike in front of him with a mixture of awe at its beauty, fear at the ultimate rebellion it represented and just a shred of stunned amazement that he could actually afford it. Selling the Summer Breeze in Tahiti had been heart-wrenching, but mostly because he knew it was the right thing to do. She belonged to a different phase of Seth's life; letting her go was his chrysalis. Now all he had to do complete his metamorphosis was get home, face the world and let the world face him. And he was planning to do it in style.

The owner looked from his once prized possession to the lanky kid next to him; beneath the five o' clock shadow, tanned skin and lean arms, there was a comic book geek just dying to get out. He knew an easy sell when he saw one.

"You wanna take her for a ride?" Tim asked, his light Australian twang ringing clear.

"Oh, do I!" burbled Seth immediately, temporarily giving up on all attempts to appear suave before remembering the promise to actually think before speaking that he'd made to himself when setting out on his travels exactly fifty days ago, "I mean, yeah, that would be cool."

"You ever ridden one of these before?" Tim inquired just sufficiently endeared by Seth's unabashed enthusiasm to be prompted into not completely fleecing the kid.

"Nope. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Only if you crash."

"Not in the plan," said Seth, stepping up to the bike and running his hand along the smooth surface.

"So, what is the plan? I mean, you can tell me to get lost, but from one wanderer to another, you don't seem the type to end up in Acapulco."

"I came for the waters," Seth said, unable to resist.

"That's Casablanca," Tim repliedimmediately, picking up on the reference.

"I was misinformed," Seth continued, with a glint in his eye.

The guy laughed, "Fair enough." He picked up two plain black crash helmets from the side of the road and tossed one of them casually to Seth, who caught it with surprising ease, "So, you going to be sticking around?"

"Nope, " Seth said again, brushing his shaggy hair out his eyes and slipping the helmet on, "I'm going home."

* * *

"Hey, I'm back," Ryan called out cheerfully as he pushed open the front door, "Anyone home?" On hearing no answer, Ryan allowed himself a small private sigh of relief. Even though he'd been living with Theresa, Eva and their lodger Jay for just under two months now, the only time he really felt as though this was his home was when everyone else was out. Although he knew his presence was welcomed in the house, not just merely tolerated, it was still strange to be living in Chino somewhere other than under his mother's roof and he couldn't help but feel as though he was intruding on somebody else's space rather than inhabiting his own. Usually when he got back from the site, Theresa had been home from work for a good hour and was helping Eva prepare dinner. Continuing where Arturo left off before he'd joined Trey on the Chino's jailbird roll of honor, Jay managed to walk through the door just in time to wash the grease stains from his hands and sit down to the table right as the food was served. He was a nice enough guy, just turned twenty-one. Straight-forward, occasionally moody, always friendly, when it came to small talk he made Ryan look like a scintillating conversationalist. Ryan liked Jay well enough, but tonight he had absolutely no energy left in him for a stilted discourse and after ten long hours surrounded by the cacophony of pneumatic drills, diggers and cement mixers, the sound of silence was the sweetest thing he had heard all day.

Twenty minutes, a shower and change of clothes later, it was sweeter still. Ryan sat on the couch, his eyes closed, basking in the quiet solitude, fully intending to get up and make a start on dinner. Maybe in five minutes. Just as he was beginning to drift off, he heard the jingle of keys on the step outside, shaking him back to earth. A moment later, the front door opened and Theresa entered the house.

"Hey," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Jesus, Ryan, you scared me," said Theresa, dropping off her bag of groceries on the counter.

"Sorry," he apologized reflexively as he stood up and went to help her unpack, "You hada good day?"

"Some fourteen year old shot his best friend by accident and I had to tell him he's going to be charged with manslaughter."

"That's terrible," said Ryan, practically feeling Theresa's stress wash over him in waves, "You okay?"

"Better than he is."

She sighed and looked over at Ryan, not failing to notice how his body language had stiffened up in just the few minutes she had been home and hating herself for it. He held out a glass of orange juice freshly poured from the new carton for her. So sweet. Making a conscious decision to relax, she accepted it with a smile, before passing Ryan a second clean glass from the sideboard for himself. She drank deeply before sighing again, this time with mere tiredness rather than frustration.

"You okay?" Ryan asked, not particularly wanting to talk about it after his long day, but prepared to if necessary.

"Yeah. Sorry, I'm good," Theresa said returning to the task at hand, "It's just hard sometimes, that's all. Draining, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Ryan said softly. Boy did he.

"Believe me," Theresa continued, unaware of the depth of Ryan's unhappiness, "I'm grateful to Sandy for helping me get me the job, but translating for a P.D. has to be one of the most depressing jobs ever. All I do is give bad news."

Ryan's face fell at Theresa's casual mention of Sandy's name. It was ridiculous and he knew it, but even nearly two months after leaving Newport, he still spent way too much of his day wondering whether or not he had done the right thing by leaving. As Theresa reached up to the top shelf of cupboard, he couldn't help be notice her shirt rise slightly, revealing the slight swell of her belly and the other dominant matter that pervaded his thoughts daily. Ryan felt his mind beginning to spin again and he forced himself to snap out of it.

"Beats construction," he said, handing Theresa the last of the cans, "but you know my Spanish is a little-"

"- Hideous?"

"I was going to say rusty."

"Rusty? That would imply you knew some once."

"Hey, it's not that bad. _Te veo luego. Le diré que llamaste. ¿Has visto mis llaves?"_

"I take it back. You're bilingual, clearly, just the strong silent type."

"That's me."

"You know, you also work at the library. I hear they have books there, like on Spanish. You read them and it tells you how to say all kinds of things," she teased, semi-seductively, "Maybe you could take a look at one sometime?"

"I could do that. Maybe."

The distraction of groceries removed, Ryan and Theresa regarded one another. Standing only inches apart, the unspoken awkwardness hung heavily in the air. They shared a bed, but not the connection. Whatever natural ease had once existed between them had been fading before Ryan left Chino last summer and had not returned when he did. Now all that remained was a history. When Eva or Jay were home Theresa and Ryan could pretend otherwise, but when it was just the two of them, it was painfully obvious that they were virtual strangers, searching together futilely to rediscover one another and finding only shared disappointment at the loss of their understanding. Now in lieu of happiness they turned to brief moments of strained passion.

Moving her hand to where Ryan's rested lightly on the counter, Theresa took his in her own, stepping in closer and looking deep into his eyes, as if seeking permission or forgiveness for turning to the physical connection instead of trying harder to regain their emotional one. Sharing her sorrow, Ryan moved with her, the tenderness of their kiss belying the sad emptiness they each felt.

Inevitably, as always, Ryan was the first to break away. It wasn't that Theresa felt more for him than he did for her, if anything, it was the other way round, it was simply that he was less comfortable with pretending than she was and more tired of it. He felt like he'd pretending for the past year.

"Theresa," he began, unable to curb his natural instinct to apologize.

"Just leave it, Ryan. It doesn't matter."

They stood looking at each other for an impossibly long time, sharing a moment that was far more intimate than any kiss.

"I have to call home," Ryan said eventually. Seeing Theresa's face fall, he hastily corrected himself, "I mean, Sandy. I'm supposed to be meeting him Sunday. Weekly lunch date thing."

"Right. I forgot."

"You should come," he offered genuinely, "Change of scene."

"'Cause me back in Newport, that wouldn't be awkward."

"Hey, you know Sandy likes you."

"I'm not so sure."

"Believe me, if he didn't, you'd know."

"I don't think so Ryan," Theresa said, trying to let him down gently, "Not this time. Maybe if Seth were around-,"

"- Well, he's not," Ryan snapped. Theresa looked crestfallen, "You know what, forget it. You're right, it's probably best if it's just me."

Without another word, he picked up the telephone from the counter and walked towards their bedroom, closing the door behind him, shutting Theresa out. It was cruel and he knew it, but he was too worn to dwell on it now. His hand was shaking as he dialed. He was determined not to let his voice do the same. It was getting harder.

* * *

"Ryan, if I've learned nothing else in Newport, believe me when I say you can't come to a seafood restaurant and order a burger. It's practically a capital offence."

"Well, I was looking to step up," Ryan joked. Sandy didn't smile. "Sorry."

"Not your best," Sandy admitted. He perused the menu, noting as Ryan picked his up again and did the same, slinking down slightly in the booth as he did so. A few lousy weeks; that's all it had taken for him to slip back into passivity. Just like that, a year's worth of building self-confidence, of entertaining optimism as an option, wiped out. A waitress approached them. Determined not to let the gloomy mood completely swamp their dinner, Sandy threw down his menu theatrically and turned to her with a smile.

"Hell, screw it, when burgers are outlawed, only outlaws will have burgers. Cheeseburger, nothing on it. As nature intended."

"Rare, medium, well-done?"

"Do you do cremated?"

"We can try," the waitress answered with a smile.

"Excellent," said Sandy daftly, looking over at Ryan, "You live with Kirsten, you kind of get used to food being incinerated."

Ryan allowed the smallest of smiles to pass his lips.

"And for you, sir?"

"Uh, I'll have the same, but medium. Please."

"Sure. Can I get you guys anything else?"

"I'll have another beer, thanks. Ryan? You want a refill?"

"No, I'm good thanks," he replied reaching for his distinctly less exciting half-empty glass of coke.

"Okay. I'll be back before you know it," the waitress said before turning on her heel and departing to the kitchens. Sandy and Ryan watched her leave, enjoying the view for a moment before remembering whose company they were in.

"So," said Sandy, sitting up smartly to hide his embarrassment, "How's it going, Ryan?"

"Good," Ryan answered, with predictable stoicism.

"Well, that was enlightening."

Ryan shifted in his seat, trying not to seem too nervous. He'd met Sandy at least once a week since he moved back to Chino and with every visit it got a little more awkward, they had a little less to say to one another. When Kirsten was there too, it was easier, but work had been exceptionally busy for her of late and her free time was scarce to say the least. He felt Sandy's eyes on him, searching for information. Ryan knew his guardian expected and deserved more than one-word answers but he was afraid if he started talking he might not be able to stop and an emotional purging was a luxury he simply couldn't afford right now. But he couldn't help it; his impulse to make the man he wished were his father feel better was stronger than his fear. He decided to risk it.

"I'm good. Theresa's got another scan later this week. Going to find out whether it's a boy or girl."

"You don't want to be surprised?"

"We talked about it. But Eva's desperate to know and we'd be happy either way, so..."

"Fair enough. You thought of any names yet?"

"Not Thor," said Ryan, spotting an out to prevent the conversation getting too heavy, "Otherwise, no."

"Thor?"

"Seth's suggestion. I think it was a joke. Or at least I hope it was, or else God help his kids."

"Indeed."

"You heard from him?"

"He left another four am message; hung up before we could get to the phone again. I swear when he gets back, I'm going to kill him just for that.

"If you need someone to hold him down..." offered Ryan, actually meaning it despite of his light tone.

"I might need someone to hold me back," Sandy replied, a little too seriously.

"Just tell me when." Ryan said, attempting a second joke and smiling feebly at Sandy when it fared only slightly better than his first. As silence descended awkwardly once more, he could feel his control slipping away from him. Determined to keep his emotions in check, he opted for safe territory.

"So, is Seth okay? Did he say where he was?"

"Just that he's on his way back. Said hello."

"He's coming back?" said Ryan, his voice lifting hopefully for the first time, "That's cool. I mean, he's been gone a while. You guys must have really missed him."

"It's not just him we've missed, Ryan," Sandy said, not caring if he was embarrassing the boy sitting opposite him, who instinctively looked down, "But then I don't have to tell you that."

As Ryan tormented himself wondering if he should respond, Sandy drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle on the table. He stood up.

"Now if you'll excuse me for a minute; nature calls."

" 'Kay," said Ryan as Sandy left. He sighed, cursing himself for his verbal ineptitude. He should have said something.

When Sandy returned a few minutes later, he found Ryan taking a nonchalant swig from the fresh bottle of beer on the table. Ducking the eyebrow laden glare, Ryan set the bottle down, retreating to his coke and the enormous cheeseburger that had materialized in Sandy's absence.

"Sorry. Cow without beer just seems sort of wrong."

"I take your point," said Sandy, slipping back into the booth, and rubbing his hands in anticipation of the feast before him, "Not that you should technically you should be in a position to judge, being five, sorry, four years under the limit."

Sandy took a huge bite of his burger, looking purposefully at Ryan, who didn't miss the subtle dig about his birthday, and the fact that he'd spent in Chino.

"Sorry," he said, his head dropping slightly.

"I can keep a secret," said Sandy, knowing he was making Ryan feel uncomfortable but not feeling particularly inclined to do anything about it. See how he liked feeling shut out for a change. Ryan shrank a little more, suddenly not feeling quite so hungry. Seeing him withdraw, Sandy sighed inwardly, angry as was with the kid, he wasn't being fair and he knew it. Being the grown-up sucked.

"Besides, it's not my restaurant. More's the pity, the waitresses here are way hotter than ours were," Sandy said, simultaneously cutting Ryan some slack and embarrassing him tremendously, before adding with genuine concern, "You're not drinking at home are you?"

Ryan couldn't help but laugh a little at the very thought of it, "You've never met Eva, have you?"

"I take it that means no."

"She caught Arturo and Trey drinking once in his bedroom a few years back. I'm surprised you didn't hear the yelling in Newport."

"She sounds like a formidable lady."

"Yeah. She's been great, but believe me, you do not want to piss her off," Ryan said, cringing slightly as Sandy frowned parentally at his choice of words, "She's been really good to me. Always has."

"I'm glad. It's great. And you may not be living with us any more, but that doesn't mean we're going to stop worrying about you, Ryan, because we do. Every day."

Ryan shattered.

"I miss you guys too," he whispered, gripping his cheeseburger as if it were a security blanket, "But you know I can't- "

"- Yeah, I know," said Sandy gently, despite his frustrations, not wanting to make Ryan feel worse than he obviously already did, "Listen. Kirsten and I, we were thinking, we'd really like it if you, and Theresa too if she wanted, if you came and stayed for the weekend. It's a been a while since you've been to the house and it'd be great to catch up, you know, properly."

"I don't know, I work Saturdays, I'd have to switch shifts with someone."

"Come on, Ryan, I know the building site's shut on the weekends."

"Not on the site, I work at the central library, Friday evenings, all Saturday."

"You do?" said Sandy, wondering how long this had been going on and what other news he might have missed.

"Yeah, nothing major," said Ryan, feeling guilty for letting Sandy slip out of the loop, "I don't do any of the reading schemes or computer training, just general stuff, stacking, checking the books in and out, you know, that kind of thing. I was sure I told you."

"Nope. You see, case in point," said Sandy, authoritatively, "I miss knowing what you're getting up to. And I know Kirsten does too; things have been crazy for her at work lately, she was gutted that she couldn't make it tonight."

Ryan flinched at the mention of Kirsten's name. Every time he'd seen her since he'd left, every time he'd spoken to her, she sounded so tired, so drained, it was all he could do not pack his bags and move back to Newport. Mentioning her to Ryan was emotional blackmail and they both knew it. But Sandy also knew it was the only way he was going to get Ryan to agree to come and stay. His tone softened.

"No pressure, I promise. Just a couple of days, hanging out, no cement mixers. Come on, let someone spoil you for a change; after all, we didn't see you on your birthday."

"You didn't miss much; Atwoods and birthdays are kind of a non-event."

"Well, that's a shame 'cause as you know Cohens and birthdays are big news. And you can take the Cohen out of Newport, but you can't take the Cohen out of the Atwood, kid. We're like chewing gum, we stick to everything."

Ryan allowed himself the smallest of smiles. He shrugged, "Okay, sure. That'd be great."

"Excellent," said Sandy, beaming, "So, next weekend? I'll drive down, pick you guys up after work. And I promise not to let Kirsten incinerate anything."

"Cool. Next weekend. But no piñatas," he added, "I don't do blindfolds. Also, getting hit on the head with big stick, not as a much fun as you'd think. Just ask my brother."

"Check: no piñatas," said Sandy smiling, "But there may be colored fairy lights, if only to keep Caleb at bay."

"I can live with that," Ryan said, his smile lingering as he flicked his eyebrows in a distinctly facetious Sandy-esque fashion.

His mission accomplished, Sandy relaxed, feeling relieved as Ryan appeared to do the same. He nodded towards the burger that Ryan still gripped in his hands as if he'd forgotten what it was actually there for.

"Don't let your cow get cold," he said lightly, before finishing his off in a final huge messy bite, "Hmm, perfection."

Ryan grinned as Sandy struggled to keep his dignity despite the juice dribbling down his chin. It was just a weekend after all, and the Cohens were still the Cohens, caring, considerate and goofy. And it wasn't like he hadn't spent plenty of time with them without Seth before, so how weird could it be? He laid his burger down on his plate and stood up.

"I'll be right back; if that disappears whilst I'm gone, the deal's off."

"Hoo, you sure know how to protect your food, kid."

"It'll take more than a few weeks in Chino to forget that you Cohens are gannets," Ryan joked.

"Now, you see, _that_ was funny," teased Sandy. Ryan laughed and waved a hand dismissively at him as he headed to the back of the restaurant.

When he was sure Ryan was out of sight, Sandy reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell-phone and hit speed dial.

"Hey, honey," he said as Kirsten answered it, "It's me. We're on."

* * *

By the time Ryan had finally made it back to Theresa's, he was tired and more than a little cranky. As usual, he'd declined Sandy's offer of a ride home, something he regretted intently as his bus spent the best part of an hour stuck in traffic while the wreck of a truck and its load of frozen food was cleared from the freeway. By the time he'd arrived at the main station, the last local bus had already left and he'd been forced to walk the rest of the way home. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that he had to get up in just over six hours so that he'd get to work on time for eight. He just wanted to go to bed.

As he approached the house, he was surprised to see the lights still on. Jay and Theresa usually got up as early as he did and Eva generally retired early in the evening. Coming closer, he couldn't help but be relievedshe was a preternaturally heavy sleeper, as the sounds of Theresa and Jay arguing at in full swing drifted out into the night. This was all he needed; a house full of tension and battle-lines. If he'd wanted that, he'd have tracked down his mother. Still, his interest had been engaged by the sound of the normally laconic Jay going toe-to-toe with Theresa and he couldn't help but feel a morbid curiosity as he listened to the conversation unfold. Equally intrigued and agitated on stumbling upon the scene, Ryan crept as quietly as possible towards the porch in attempt to gauge whether it was safe to enter.

"I told you no, Jay, I mean it," Theresa, said angrily.

"Would you just listen to me?"

"So that you can tell me I'm an idiot again?"

"I didn't say you were an idiot," Jay said defensively, "I said you were being idiotic."

"Because that's so much better."

"I just think you should tell Ryan, so he can make up his own mind, that's all." Ryan's ears pricked up. This did not sound good.

"He wouldn't understand," Theresa said, "And he shouldn't have to."

"That is a pretentious pile of crap and you know it," snapped Jay. Ryan winced; he could practically hear Theresa's fuse blow.

_"Que sabes tu, tonto idiota?" _Theresa snapped as she switched to Spanish, the language she felt more comfortable offending others in. Definitely not safe to enter. _"Piensas que me gusta guardar secretos con él? Me hace sentir me enferma." _

_"Entonces dígale, no tiene que hacer nada. Solamente salir de la trayectoria,"_ said Jay, following the shift and ignoring the insult.

_"Como si va hacer eso. Es Ryan, te acuerdas?" _

_"Tu no sabes eso!"_

_"Por favor! Tu sabes igual que yo que él me ayudaría si yo le preguntaría, pero no lo voy a meter en esto. Las cosas ya son bastante malas; no voy a arriesgar hacer las peor, entonces callate ya."_

_" Bien, entonces!"_

_"Bien."_ Having got her way, Theresa's voice softened. Reverting back to English, she continued, "Look, I know you're worried about us, but it's going to be fine. You just have trust me, okay?"

"Okay, fine."

Jay sighed, "I'm going to bed. You going to wait up for him?"

"Nah, he's probably just stuck on a bus somewhere again. He'll be back soon."

"Okay. You're a good friend, Jay, but trust me on this," she ventured as a peace offering.

" I do. And you are too," Jay replied, begrudgingly accepting it.

As the lights went off inside the house, Ryan sat down on the step, his thoughts whirring. His Spanish may have been rusty, but he'd understood enough of the conversation to recognize that there was trouble brewing and Theresa was trying to keep him out of it. Ryan's stomach gnawed as he considered the possibilities. Secrets were definitely being kept from him. Suddenly the prospect of a weekend at the Cohens' couldn't come soon enough. He laid his head back against the door and sighed, casting his gaze to the stars in the hope they might offer reassurance, but the insipid glow of the streetlights blocked them out. He was lost and alone and he had only himself to blame.

* * *

Over a thousand miles away, the road stretched out before Seth invitingly. The city had fallen away into darkness behind him and overhead the stars danced across the sky, dazzling him into insignificance. The wind was warm as it brushed past him, whispering on his skin and he felt completely at peace for perhaps the first time in months. And the road led on.

* * *

It's ambitious I know, doing a hiatus fic when I haven't seen past _The Third Wheel_, so reviews are greatly appreciated from everyone except **muchtvs** who is not to review me under any circumstances until I have caught up with hers!


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: Thanks to **Famous 99 **for the research, and to **elzed **and **Shelbecat** for the strategic nagging / distraction, both equally necessary!I've gone in without a beta this time, so the errors are all mine. After writing this chapter I have come to the conclusion that my record collection is in sore need of some disco.

****

* * *

_"...nothing is changed. Nothing has been done. There is neither rhyme nor reason, just tears, tears, people's pain, people's rage, their aggression. And silence." _

_Anthony Minghella, Cigarettes and Chocolate_

* * *

Kirsten stood in the middle of the shopping mall's bookstore, trying to remember exactly what she had come in to buy. She was sure that Sandy had asked her to pick something up for him whilst she was collecting the kids' required textbooks for new school year, but on her way upstairs, she'd been distracted by the travel section and had ended up reading about Tahiti for what seemed like the hundredth time since Seth had stolen away in the middle of the night nearly two months ago. He was safe, she knew that. He was a good sailor. Summer Breeze may be small, but Seth knew every inch of her, she was part of him. He knew what weather she could handle, he didn't take unnecessary risks, he checked in with the coastguards and this had allowed Kirsten and Sandy to track him on his journey. Even if Seth's letter hadn't told them where he was going, they could have guessed; Tahiti had impressed itself on Seth's soul long ago. And three weeks ago, he had called.

Kirsten had expected the blinking message to be work, again, or possibly Ryan. To hear Seth's voice stumbling out of the answering machine had stopped Kirsten dead in her tracks and for a moment she was so relieved to hear him telling him alright she momentarily forgot her anger, her anxiety, her disappointment. Three weeks later, they still had no firm idea of where he was, what he'd been doing, or where he was going, until the night before last, when his latest message had revealed that he was finally on his way home. It was almost enough to make her forgive him.

"Mrs. Cohen?"

Kirsten turned in the direction of the nervous voice to find Summer standing next to her, struggling under a pile of textbooks.

"Summer! How are you?"

"I'm okay, just picking up books for school," Summer said, as she adjusted them in her arms. Noticing the open book in Kirsten's hand, Summer's face fell a little, "Are you and Mr. Cohen going away too?"

"What?" Kirsten looked down at the book as though she'd forgotten she was holding it, "Oh, this. No, we're not going anywhere." She put it back on the shelf beside her. "I just got distracted." She nodded towards the books in Summer's arms, "Are those all those books just for the required list?"

"Yeah. And I thought a private education was meant to help you avoid a life of heavy lifting."

Kirsten couldn't help but crack a smile, "I've come to pick up the same for the boys. Thought I'd take a break from the office."

Seeing Summer twitch nervously at the mention of her absent friends, Kirsten couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the way Seth had hurt the normally bright and bubbly girl before her.

"Hey, listen, it's nearly lunchtime. How about you show me where I can find these monstrosities and then we could head down to the food court. My shout."

"You sure?" Summer asked, brightening a little.

"Absolutely," Kirsten said assuredly, "And after all this heavy lifting, I think we're going to need it."

* * *

By the time Kirsten sat down with Summer at the food court, she was convinced that her arms were a good two inches longer.

"Good grief!" she said, as she placed their bags of books on the floor and Summer set their trays of paninis and juice down on the table, "I think I've just dislocated my shoulders."

"See, this is why I'm signing up for the Shakespeare class. It's like two books for the whole quarter."

"Sounds very wise."

Summer smiled, trying not to show Kirsten how awkward she felt. In the bookstore, lunch had sounded great; she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually sat down and had a casual chat with somebody who wasn't self-medicating like her step-mother, or moody like her dad, or both, like Marissa. Plus, she was dying to know if there was any news from Seth. Or even Ryan. Hell at this point, she'd settle for news of the Newport Group. But sitting down now in the crowded food court, surrounded by people who'd actually come shopping at the mall as friends or families instead of two undefined acquaintances meeting by accident, it seemed to Summer as though this was a classic "it seemed like a good idea at the time" moment if ever there was one. And exactly what was the decorous way to ask after the boyfriend who you weren't really sure was your boyfriend anymore on account of him sailing to Tahiti and leaving the world's vaguest note?

Sensing Summer's nervousness, Kirsten decided to put her out of her misery, "I'm glad we ran into each other, I was actually going to call you later."

"You were?"

"Seth called the other night."

"Really?!" said Summer, a little too excitedly for her liking, "Where the hell is he? I mean, is he okay? He's coming home, right? What'd he say?"

Kirsten tried not to crack too much of a smile as Summer channeled her inner Seth, "He's fine; I mean, he sounded fine. Wherever he is he's on his way back. He left another message, told us to give you his love."

"He did?" said Summer, her voice softening a little, "Well, that's something, I guess."

"Summer, I can't begin to understand what was running through Seth's mind when he left, but if there's one thing I'm certain of it's that he cares about you enormously. And although there's no denying he behaved despicably towards you and to every one else, there's no doubt in my mind that Seth never meant to hurt you."

Summer at prodded her panini, "I know. And I know there was a lot of stuff going on, what with Ryan and all, and us too, but he never even called, you know?"

"I know," said Kirsten, feeling guilty for the obvious hurt Seth had caused her, "And believe me, is he going regret _that_ when he comes home. Seth's crazy about you, Summer."

"God, he can be such an moron sometimes."

"No arguments here."

Summer looked at Kirsten, touched by her attempts to make her feel better when it was obvious she was hurting too, "But he's my moron, you know?"

"Do you think you'll get back together?" inquired Kirsten, asking the question that Summer hoped she wouldn't.

"I don't know," said Summer honestly, "Maybe."

Feeling uneasy once again, Summer abandoned social convention and abruptly changed the subject, "So, how's Ryan? He hasn't e-mailed me in like forever. Typical male."

"Ryan's fine. Actually, he and Theresa are coming up this weekend. We were planning on having a belated birthday get together for him and we were hoping you might come along? Bring a few friends from school? Marissa maybe, perhaps some of the guys from the soccer team? What do you think?"

"I think Chino would probably die of embarrassment," Summer said automatically, before hastily adding, "No offense. But Ryan and parties? Not the world's best combo."

"Are you sure? I mean, I know he'd never ask for us to do anything, but I thought it might be nice-"

"- He'd appreciate the gesture, sure, but when Ryan goes to parties, people kind of have a habit of getting punched. Or shot. Sometimes both. Plus the soccer team; they make the water polo team look like intellectuals. By the time Luke and Anna left, it was pretty much just the four of us."

"I see," said Kirsten, the disappointment in her voice clear, "Well, that's okay. We can just have dinner. It'd be nice to have you girls round again, it's been too long."

"I, uh, I don't think Coop would come," said Summer gently, "I mean, I'll ask her if you want, but she's kind of been a little out there lately."

"Out there?"

"You know, angry," Summer continued, picking at her salad in an attempt to avoid Kirsten's gaze and making either of them feel worse than they obviously already did. "She's out partying a lot. She was pretty mad at him when he left. I don't think they've talked. She's not really talking to me either; we kinda had a fight. Actually, we kinda had several."

Kirsten's heart fell. She'd known things were bad, that Ryan and Seth's leaving were part of a wider problem, but as she heard Summer speak, saw how she tried to sound cheerful for Kirsten's sake, she realized just how messed up the lives of her kids and her friends really were. And she couldn't help but feel that she should have seen it coming. Unable to hide her sadness, Kirsten sighed heavily and rested her head in her hand.

"How did everything get so screwed up?"

"Welcome to the O.C.," joked Summer, before taking another bite of her panini.

Kirsten couldn't help but smile a little, "Well, at least the stores are good."

"And the paninis, " said Summer, her mouth full of bacon, brie and cranberry, "I think I want to marry the guy who made this."

"Actually, I think it was the girl," said Kirsten looking over towards the counter.

Summer followed her gaze, "Screw it, she's cute and I'm open-minded."

Kirsten laughed. She hoped Seth realized what he'd risked by leaving this girl on the shore. "So this weekend?" she asked, "Will you come? I can't promise paninis, but I am planning to excessively over shop for groceries."

"I'd love to," said Summer with only a fraction more enthusiasm then she actually felt, "Watching Chino squirm with all the attention on him? It'll be totally cool."

* * *

Ryan moved through the quiet stacks of the library, haphazardly pushing a cartload of books. The three-wheeled cart wasn't the only thing that was run down in the library; aside from the children's section, most of the books were older than Ryan and about as worn out. But Ryan liked it; libraries to him had always been a sanctuary, from when he was escaping his parents' financial disputes in Fresno as a little kid, to avoiding the attentions and often the fists of his mothers' boyfriends after they'd moved down to Chino. Throughout the last year, he'd come to rely on Harbor's lofty alcoves as a place to seek solitude from Seth or Marissa without causing them hurt. And now, he was back at the local library again, seeking refuge from his home life once more. Only this time the pain he was attempting to ignore was of the emotional variety and entirely self-inflicted.

Wrestling with the cart as he maneuvered his way through the stacks, Ryan came to a halt in front of the Romance section and began straightening up the shelves. When they were more or less in order, he started to shelve the books. It never ceased to amaze Ryan how fast the romance novels went out. Every month, when the new selection came in, there would literally be a crowd of people jostling for position around the New Titles section, all trying to get their hands on a happy ending. And there were so many different genres; the standard whirlwind adventures, usually involving at least two European cities, Westerns and a whole of stack of stories depicting the shenanigans of various members of the Medical profession. Looking at the array of titles before him, Ryan couldn't help but wonder how much you could make by writing one of these; the books weren't that thick, there was certainly a high demand and he'd definitely had enough experience hanging around hospitals.

Just as he was in danger of taking his whimsical thoughts of a dazzling if slightly nauseating literary career too seriously, Ryan spotted Kit, the library's deputy manager heading through the stacks towards him. Hastily returning to the task at hand, Ryan gave a nod to Kit as the forty-something joined him.

"Hey, Ryan," he greeted him warmly.

"Hey."

"So, I checked the schedule," Kit said, taking a stack of books and joining in with the shelving, "And it's no problem for you to have tomorrow off."

"You sure?" said Ryan, "I know it's short notice."

"It's fine, really. And about those extra shifts, I could do with an extra pair of hands on Wednesday nights if you want."

"Really?" Ryan said, pleased at the chance to make a little extra money before school started back up. That'd be great."

"I take it you're saving for something special," Kit said amiably clueless.

"You could say that," Ryan said carefully, trying to walk the line between casual and inviting further interest, "So starting next Wednesday?"

"Yeah, from six. Can you get yourself over here, by then? Sans concrete?"

"Not a problem," Ryan said with a confidence he felt was deeply misplaced. His boss on the construction site was an ass and despite knowing about his acrophobia, had no qualms about sending him to the top of the scaffolding. Ryan was just relieved he hadn't found out about the baby; it had been a long while since he'd punched somebody and he was hoping to keep it that way.

"Hey, I know she's a fine looking lady, but really, I think you can do better," Kit teased, shaking Ryan out of his thoughts. He looked down at the femme fetale on the cover of the book he was distractedly holding. Kit was right; she was kind of hot. He really needed to go home.

"Sorry," he said as he placed the book back on the shelf and reached for another.

"Long day?" Kit asked kindly.

"Long day." Ryan confirmed with a sigh.

"Well, it's nearly over. Tell you what; it's pretty quiet. There's a few books that need checking into the system by the front counter, why don't you go do that and I'll finish up here?"

"You sure?" asked Ryan, surprised at the offer; checking books in wouldn't exactly the thrill of his day, it would be a hell of lot more interesting than more stacking and they both knew it.

"Yeah, go for it," confirmed Kit with a nod of his head, "There's not many, it shouldn't take long. Then you can head off afterwards."

"Thanks man, that'd be great."

"No problem."

Leaving Kit alone with the ladies, Ryan headed over to the counter. After relocating the small-ish pile of books from the floor to the countertop beside him, he began to check them through into the computer system. Of all the jobs in the library, it was the one he favored the most; it was quiet, allowed him time to think without being as mind-numbing as stacking and it gave him chance to flick through the new books before they were sent out into the wild.

This particular selection was mostly literature; the latest Norton anthologies and the usual few copies of Shakespeare to replace the most dilapidated in the collection. There were a few poetry anthologies including a copy of _The Rattle Bag_, the only book of poetry Ryan had ever owned, a leaving gift from a kind-hearted teacher when he'd moved from Fresno. After thumbing through it idly for a few minutes, Ryan continued with his task until finally he came down to the last book, _The Pillowman,_ a thin volume with a plain orange cover. Intrigued by the title, Ryan picked up the play and read the first few lines.

Half an hour later, he closed the back cover gently. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Ryan checked the book into the system and placed it with the others on a cart ready for shelving. Grabbing his bag and jacket from under the counter, wordlessly he strode quickly through the library, his head down as he mumbled a few parting words to Kit and out into the cold lonely night.

Walking down the street towards home, his insides were numb, his mind dizzy. Passing by a small park, Ryan slipped inside, coming to rest on a dilapidated swing-set. As he sat idly rocking, leaning against the chain, he had never felt more out of control. Fury, desire and hopelessness raged inside of him in a conflicting hurricane of emotions. He had worked too hard for this to become his life, he didn't want it, he didn't deserve it and worst of all, he had no idea how to change it.

* * *

Beneath the same crescent moon, Seth finally rolled into town with barely five miles worth of gas left in the tank. Stopping to fill up at the first gas station he saw, he continued down to the beach and drove slowly up the coast road until he found the turn off for the cove road. When he came to the beach, there was a only one other person there, a girl of his age, maybe a little older, sitting by a small fire of driftwood, that crackled sharply in contrast with the gentle rise and fall of the waves. Seth parked his motorbike near hers and grabbing his bag, made his way across to the sands to where the fire burned. Nodding in greeting to her, Seth picked up a piece of driftwood from the small pile and pushed at the edges of the orange fire, coaxing it along.

"This seat taken?" he asked, hoping her reply would come in English. Pulling out a phrase book would spoil the mood and he had no intention of letting anything corrupt the almost magical perfection of this beautiful place.

"Go ahead," the girl said, gesturing for Seth to sit down, her mellow words lilting with a light accent.

Placing the piece of driftwood on to the crackling flames, Seth sat down on the soft white sand. He looked out to the dark ocean, its softly breaking waves illuminated only by the small slice of silver moon and the scattering of stars.

After a few minutes of silent tranquility, he looked over to the girl beside him and smiled, "I'm Seth," he said.

She looked towards at him and their eyes locked on to one another as if they had known one another and had been waiting to meet here all their lives.

"Maia," replied the girl softly, before turning back to the ocean once more, "My name is Maia."

* * *

Kirsten lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as she waited for Sandy to come home. She couldn't get over how quiet the house was these days. Only a few months ago she had relished in the occasionally time in which she'd found the house empty of kids and husband; no cacophonous video games or music blaring from the lounge or Seth's bedroom. But now, things were different, the quiet unsettling and eerie. The whole house felt empty and sad, as if it too knew what it had lost.

She had only been asleep for half an hour by the time Sandy crept in to the bedroom and inadvertently woke her with a kiss. Rolling over to watch him as he undressed, she couldn't help but notice the aura of lethargy that radiated from him, echoing her own. Hearing her stir, Sandy, turned and offered a small smile.

"Hey. Did I wake you?"

"I was just drifting," said Kirsten as she pushed herself up in bed. She glanced at the clock, "You're late tonight."

"Yeah, I had some catching up to do. Wanted to get ahead before this weekend."

"And did you?"

"Close enough. What about you?"

"I told Dad I was unavailable for comment until Monday. He was wondering whether or not to stop by, say hi to Ryan, but since we're not having a party anymore-"

"- We're not?"

"I ran into Summer at the mall. She seemed to think it would probably be best if we kept things small."

"Oh well, if that's what Summer thinks, then-"

"She's right, Sandy," said Kirsten gently deflecting her husband's rising indignation, "You know, if we had a party, he'd enjoy it for our sake, not his own. Plus this way, we have a legitimate reason for telling my Dad and Julie to stay away, which suits me fine."

"I guess," Sandy conceded, "So what did Summer suggest?"

"We thought dinner. Just the four of us, nothing fancy."

"What about Marissa? Should we invite her too? I mean, I know that her and Ryan didn't part on the best of terms, but..." he sighed, knowing the futility of his words, even as he spoke them.

"From what Summer told me, I don't think that would be a good idea. Sounds like Marissa has a few things she needs to work through and you know Ryan-"

"- One damsel in distress is more than enough."

"Right." Kirsten confirmed.

Sandy sighed heavily. Having let his clothes collect in a puddle on the floor, he reached back under his pillow for a t-shirt. After slipping it over his head, he remained sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, his back still to Kirsten, his shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"Sandy?" asked Kirsten quietly, her spirits as heavy as her husbands'.

"I just wanted this weekend to be special, to remind him that he's got friends here, family. Even without Seth." He rubbed at his brow with one hand as Kirsten reached for the other and squeezed it gently, "God, Kirsten, how did we get here? A year ago, I didn't even know Ryan, Seth was miserable, now Seth's still miserable and God-knows-where because I couldn't stop Ryan's life from catching up with him."

Kirsten remained quiet, not wanting to offer hypocritical platitudes. "He's never going to come back, is he?" she said finally, her voice steady but full of sorrow, "This weekend, he's coming to say good bye."

Sandy looked round at Kirsten, saw his heart weary expression mirrored in her own, "I think so, yes."

* * *

Ryan really wasn't in the mood to be sociable but he had to admit that the sounds of laughter and teasing that emanated from inside the house was vastly preferable to sounds of fighting that he'd heard the night before. As he pushed open the door, he was greeted by a full house and the delicious smell of Chinese food wafting over from the kitchen table, where Theresa, Jay and Eva sat enjoying a feast.

"Hey! The man himself," said Jay warmly, getting up and crossing over to the oven.

"Thank goodness you're here Ryan," said Eva, as he came and joined them at the table, "I was just about to die under the stress of anticipation."

"Don't be so melodramatic Ma," chided Theresa, rolling her eyes, "You're late tonight."

"Sorry," Ryan said habitually, "Just had some stuff to do."

"You got tomorrow off?" asked Jay.

"Uh-huh," Ryan nodded back, "Plus I picked up some extra shifts at the library; Wednesday nights."

"Hey, that's great," said Theresa warmly, "I got some overtime at the office tomorrow, so I can't make it to Newport."

"You can't?" Ryan replied, not surprised but a little disappointed all the same.

"It's double time, Ryan, I didn't want to pass it up. D'you mind?"

"No, it's okay. There's always another time, right?" Ryan said, letting it go, despite knowing that there wouldn't be.

"Absolutely."

"Well, there goes my weekend. With all you guys away I was going to throw a kegger," joked Jay as he presented Ryan with a piping hot carton of mu-shoo pork and another of sesame chicken, "Tuck in, my friend."

"Thanks," said Ryan, breathing in the fragrant spicy aroma.

"I'm going to my sister's in Pomona, not Atlanta, Jay," reproached Eva in a mock stern fashion, "I would like my house to be here when I get back."

"Yes, Ma'am," Jay pledged, saluting her playfully, as he re-took his seat at the table.

"Don't worry Ma, I'll keep him on the straight and narrow," Theresa promised her mother, helping herself to a spring roll, smiling at Ryan as he searched amongst the cartons for cutlery.

"Here you go, man," Jay said to him, extending a clean pair of chopsticks across the table.

"Nah, I'm good," shunning Jay's offer of chopsticks and reaching for a fork. Jay laughed at him good-naturedly, "Say nothing," he said in a jovially menacing tone.

"Ryan's very sensitive about his gross ineptitude," teased Theresa.

"Hey, everyone's a comedian," Ryan muttered, his light tone masking his impatience.

"Leave the boy alone Theresa, he's had a hard day," said Eva, smiling sweetly at Ryan as she came to his rescue. Ryan smiled gratefully back at her as she continued, "And now he's back, you can tell us. Grandson or granddaughter?"

Ryan's head shot up and his gaze found Theresa's, "You know?"

"I know," she replied levelly, "If you don't want to, I won't tell the others either. Your call."

"Hey, as long as you're both fine, I don't care if we're having twins."

"God, I do!" laughed Theresa, "And we're not, we're having a girl."

"We are?" Ryan said, his voice wavering slightly. Suddenly it all seemed surreally, undeniably real.

"Almost definitely. Unless he's really, really shy, but the doctor's pretty certain. You want to see?"

"Yeah," Ryan mumbled softly. Theresa stood up and crossed round to Ryan. She took a small still of her sonogram from her pocket and leaned over his shoulders to show him.

"See, that's her head, her back," she said, tracing the outline of the tiny baby round for Ryan to follow, "And these shapes here are her feet, and then her arms."

"Wow," said Ryan, as he reached up and touched Theresa's hand as it rested on his shoulder, lost in the photo and the image before him, "She's so little."

"But she's going to have a big future," Jay said, breaking gently into his friends' private moment.

"Yeah, she is," Theresa replied, letting go of Ryan's hand as she returned Jay's gaze, "No matter what."


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: This chapter is a monster, in every sense except the literal. It's quite possibly two chapters in disguise. A lame excuse for taking over a month to update, but there you have it.

****

* * *

_"Life is a sum of all your choices."  
__Albert Camus_

* * *

When Seth awoke, the embers of the fire had faded to ash and charred wood and Maia had gone. Groggily, he rolled over and pulled his battered sleeping bag close around him, squinting in the hazy early morning light as he brushed a few grains of sand away from his face. Looking at the now empty space next to him, Seth smiled as he saw Maia had traced a parting message in the sand, signing her name with a collection of pebbles and shells from the beach and charcoal from the fire. It was just the kind of thing he'd expected her to do; bohemian, sort of romantic and utterly pointless. A year ago when Seth had been planning his trip, before his dad had brought Ryan home with him thus extending his social life beyond plastic horses to three-dimensional people his own age, a quixotic farewell note from a enigmatic girl had been the exactly the kind of scenario he'd fantasized about. Except that the enigma would have been Summer and the note would have been next to a pile of clothes and told him that she was in the ocean and waiting for him to join her. But things were different now.

Over the last year, he'd thought that his fantasies had come true and in a way they had. But as their time together had gone on, Seth had begun to find being with Summer more and more stressful, not because he'd didn't enjoy every second of he was in her company, but because he was so terrified of it ending, of being alone again. When Ryan had left, the cracks had been beginning to show. The thought of potentially spending another summer alone, surrounded by memories of everything he'd lost had been too hideous to contemplate. So he'd sabotaged it, leaving before the cracks had spread and shattered his world. Unlike the solitude that awaited him back home in Newport, the solitude of the past two months had been elective. Seth hoped that Summer would understand why he left, even forgive him, but truthfully, all he wanted was to be enough for her to make her happy. Whether or not that meant being her boyfriend, her friend or staying out of her life altogether would be up to her.

* * *

A few hours later, Ryan and Sandy pulled into the Cohens' driveway. Before Sandy had even switched off the engine, the front door had opened and Kirsten stepped out to greet them.

"She has spies everywhere," Sandy joked to Ryan as he pulled the keys out of the ignition.

Ryan smiled in return as he got out of the car, taking a mental deep breath as he grabbed his duffel bag and headed over to her.

"Hey," he said to Kirsten, shifting his weight between his feet awkwardly.

"Hey," Kirsten replied, before pulling him into an inevitable hug, feeling both relieved and surprised when he not only let her, but even returned it.

"You look tired," she said, letting him go and examining him at arm's length.

"I'm okay."

"You had breakfast? I got in extra bagels. A whole mix."

"Chocolate chip?"

"Of course."

"Sounds good to me," said Ryan as he followed her into the house and through to the kitchen.

As well as buying bagels, Kirsten had clearly stocked up on enough oranges to sustain California's fruit industry for a month. A pot of coffee brewed on the stove. It was all so carefully thought out to be welcoming, Ryan couldn't help but reminded of the first time he'd arrived at the Cohens' over a year ago. There was the same inherent air of kindness and unease in the room and his insides squirmed with embarrassment.

"Wow, this looks great," he said, cursing inwardly at his bumbling.

"Well, you know how I love to cook," Kirsten teased, smiling gratefully, "I made up your bed for you, why don't you go drop off your things and I'll get us some breakfast."

"Okay," said Ryan uncertainly, before nervously adding, "Uh, where am I? Upstairs or in the poolhouse?"

Kirsten's smile faded, "The poolhouse. Unless, you'd rather be in the house, which is fine if you want to be, I just thought-" Kirsten stopped and took a logical breath, "Wherever you want to be, we want you to be."

"The poolhouse is great," he replied honestly, "It'll be nice to sleep in my old room again."

"It's still your room, Ryan. It always will be."

Not knowing how to properly respond to Kirsten's heartfelt words, Ryan looked down at his feet. "Thanks," he muttered, relieved as Sandy joined them in the kitchen, breaking the tension.

"Wow, am I starved," he said cheerily, pretending to be completely oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere pervading the kitchen.

"I'm just going to..." said Ryan, hitching a thumb towards the poolhouse, trying to blow over the moment.

"Okay," replied Kirsten softly, offering a small smile to him. She waited until he'd left before sighing quietly, "God, this is awful. He's worse than ever."

"I know," replied Sandy, echoing his wife's sigh as he came around the island and slipped his arms around her. "But we knew this wasn't going to be easy. What Ryan's going through right now, it's not just about us."

"I know," snapped Kirsten, "It's also about Seth. And Theresa. And the baby he may or not be the father of."

"Okay, so stating the obvious, I know. But trust me," Sandy said, rubbing Kirsten's arm soothingly, "Ryan needs this."

"Was he this quiet on the ride over?"

Sandy's silence spoke volumes.

"Quieter?" she asked incredulously, already knowing the answer.

"Well, you know Ryan," Sandy said defensively, "Not big on the small talk or the early mornings."

"It's just like last year all over again. Next comes the fighting, the running away and if we're really lucky, jail."

"Hey, come on. Things are not that bad, nowhere near. Ryan's a different person than he was then, he just needs a little time to loosen up a bit, that's all."

"I just want this weekend to be special," said Kirsten, turning round and resting her head on Sandy's shoulder, "For all of us."

"I know," said Sandy, breathing in the scent of her hair, seeking for reassurance even as he offered it, "Me too."

* * *

Two hours later, Ryan sat on the beach looking out at the ocean, trying fervently to remember why it was exactly that he'd given this up. The quiet, the privacy, the wide-open space; it was hard to believe sometimes that this was only an hour away from Chino and all its delights.

"Is this a private brooding session or can anyone join in?"

Ryan turned to see Summer standing behind him, the soft-toned pink lipstick that highlighted her smile perfectly matching the color of her oddly un-Summer-like floaty pink sundress and the polish on her fingers and toes.

"Hey, Summer," Ryan greeted her warmly, before standing up and pulling her into a hug, "It's good to see you."

"What's with the hugging?" teased Summer as she returned the embrace, "I thought guys from the 'hood only did lame manly back slapping."

"For you I make an exception," Ryan said as they sat down on the sand, "You look good."

"So do you."

"You sound surprised," Ryan teased amiably.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"- It's okay," Ryan reassured her.

"It's just, you look kind of burly again. You been working out or something?"

"Or something. Construction."

"Oh. Well, that's cool," said Summer lamely. Ryan raised an eyebrow at her, "Okay, so it sucks, but at least it saves on going to the gym, right?"

Ryan laughed at Summer's attempts at tact, "Right."

"So, I heard it's your birthday," she said kicking off her flip-flops and pushing her toes into the sand.

"Oh, is that what you heard?

"Uh-huh," she said, reaching inside her matching petite purse, fishing out a small, carefully wrapped gift and held it out to Ryan, "All the best people have summer birthdays."

"So I hear," said smiling as he accepted it gratefully from her, "Thanks, Summer. You know you didn't have to."

"And deny myself a chance to shop? Oh, please. I'll have you know I single-handedly uphold the ditz with the credit card stereotype; people are counting on me."

"Glad I could be of service," Ryan grinned, peeling back the silver paper to reveal a small jewelry box. Unsure and a little apprehensive of what he might find within, Ryan cracked it open to reveal a detailed thin gold metal disc no bigger than the size of a penny on a slender chain.

"It's a Saint Christopher medal," Summer said, embarrassed, as Ryan held it up look at it more closely, "It's supposed to be for protection, or good luck or to help lost souls, I can't remember which. One of those, anyway. I know, it's dorky."

"No, it's not," Ryan said hurriedly, closing the box and leaning over to give Summer a peck on the cheek, "It's great. Thanks, Summer."

"Well, I figured since you're living in the axis of evil now you could probably do with a little extra help," she teased, pleased as Ryan put the necklace on and slipped it under his shirt.

"I live in Chino, Summer, not Chechnya," Ryan shot back, pretending to scold her, smiling to himself as he remembered Seth saying almost the exact same thing to him close to a year ago.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But you're doing okay, right? You and Theresa? 'Cause you look good," she said again, as if trying to convince herself.

"Yeah, I'm good, so's Theresa. The baby's fine. It's all still kind of weird, but good."

"Well, that's good," Summer replied, debating whether or not to pursue the conversation further, despite Ryan's increasingly closed body language.

"Yeah," Ryan jumped in purposely, before she got the chance to probe deeper, "But what about you? You okay, Summer?"

"Why, are you going to save me too now?"

"Excuse me?" said Ryan defensively.

"You're like Gunga Din, Chino. Always putting others first, which normally would be a good thing, but it's like all the time. Which would be fine if you were a nun, but you're still in high school. And also a guy."

Ryan looked over at her, trying to jovially dismiss her sentiments as rambling with another skeptically raised eyebrow aimed in her direction.

"You know what I mean," Summer said levelly, ignoring him, "You keep going up the mountain, sooner or later you're going to get yourself shot."

Unable to deny the truth in her words, Ryan didn't respond. Afraid that she had overstepped the boundaries of their fuzzily-defined friendship, Summer searched vainly for something to say and the inevitable silence of awkwardness kicked in.

"So-"

"Hey-" Ryan said simultaneously with Summer after a long moment of quiet, sharing in her nervous laughter that followed.

"You first," he said graciously, hoping she wasn't going to keep on at him.

"I, uh, was just going to say I heard from Anna."

"You did?" Ryan, said relieved at the change of direction, "How is she?"

"She's good; backpacking round Europe, "She sent me a postcard, she's been going to all these music festivals."

"Sounds like Anna," said Ryan, feeling envious.

"Yeah. I'd be jealous, but camping, excessive mud, chemical toilets and permanent tinnitus don't really do it for me."

"Nah, me neither," said Ryan, smiling at Summer's bluntness, enjoying spending time in her company once again. After the past few months of tiptoeing through conversations, her cheery candor was refreshing.

"Cohen'd probably love it," Summer said softly after a moment.

Ryan looked over at her, troubled by how sad she looked suddenly as she hugged her knees with one arm, scooping the soft sand over her toes with the other. "Probably," he agreed finally, not knowing what else to say to make her feel better.

"Kirsten said he's coming home," she continued, "I thought I was pleased, but now I'm not sure. It's going to be so weird. At least while he's away I can just be mad at him, you know? I mean, running away from home at seventeen? Who does that?"

"It wasn't about you Summer," Ryan said guiltily.

"So I've heard. But I don't think Seth left because you wouldn't sleep with him anymore."

"No, I think he left because I treated him like he was dispensable."

"You didn't-"

"- Didn't I?" said Ryan, cutting her short. Without even realizing it, he mirrored her position, tracing patterns in the sand he flicked over his feet, "When I was growing up, I always hung out with Trey and his friends. I never had a guy friend like Seth before, and I totally took him for granted."

"Are you kidding me? You guys were like the three musketeers or something. Except with less of you," she said sincerely, wiggling her toes deeper into the sand.

"Hmm," grunted Ryan skeptically.

"Trust me, Cohen's way to screwed up for it just to be about you leaving town. You didn't know him before. He was always by himself, he like, never went out."

"Are you making your point or mine?"

Summer sighed and shifted sideways to face Ryan, pushing her feet out to the side, "I don't know. You're probably right; if I was Seth and the only two people I knew left, I'd probably want to skip town too."

"Yeah, not much better," Ryan sniped, more harshly than he intended.

"You know what I mean," said Summer defensively, looking directly at him and making him look down, abashed.

"Yeah," he said kindly, "I do. Me too, I guess."

"Difference is, we'd stay put."

"Yeah, well, Newport's a big place to be lonely in," Summer said, sighing. She lay back into the sand with a melodramatic grunt, "God, I am such a heinous wench."

"What?!" laughed Ryan, "Summer, you are not a wench."

"Oh really? Then what else would you call someone who spent all yesterday morning flirting with this guy in the record store in the mall and then go and have lunch with Kirsten like everything was all roses and sunshine?"

"I don't know," said Ryan, a little surprised, but empathizing with her conflicting emotions, "Lonely?"

"We swapped numbers," babbled Summer guiltily, "He's taking me to the movies this week."

"Do you like him?" asked Ryan.

Summer shrugged, her shoulders making little ripples in the sand, "I don't know. He's cute. And he's funny. Not Cohen funny. Or Danny funny, " she added hastily, "Just normal funny, like you. Only more."

"Thanks," said Ryan dryly, looking down at her with a feigned scowl.

"You're burly, you don't need to be funny," justified Summer, "Zach's just nice. I don't know!" she said covering her face with her hands and rubbing her temples, "I guess I just want things to be straightforward, you know? And as much as I love Cohen, they just never are with us."

"I think you should do whatever makes you happy. And if Seth cares about you the way he says he does, he'd want that too."

"Does Theresa make you happy?" said Summer, letting her hands drop to her sides, squinting at Ryan in the bright sunlight.

"Theresa?" he said, startled by her sudden change of tack.

"Yeah. 'Cause when I said you looked good, I was being polite. You look kind of sad."

"That's a comfort," Ryan said, not really wanting to go down this road.

"I'm being serious, Ryan. You okay?" Summer persisted.

"I'm just tired. Really, I'm fine."

" 'Cause if you're not, you could tell me and I wouldn't say anything. I'm surprisingly discreet for somebody so shallow," she joked, hoping for both the sake of his sanity and her burgeoning curiosity that Ryan would open up her to her, "Honestly. I mean it."

"Then, honestly? I don't know," said Ryan, lying back on the sand next to Summer, "Things with me and Theresa aren't great. Truth is, I don't know what they are. In one way, she's like the best friend I ever had, the girl I grew up with, fooled around with, you know? And in another she's like this stranger."

He looked over at Summer, grateful to have someone to talk to, to listen to him.

"Ever since the baby came along, she's different, but it's not all the time. When she's talking with her mom, she's so happy, or when we're all hanging together, it's like we're thirteen again. But then most of the time, when it's only the two of us, it's just, I don't know, weird."

"Weird how?" Summer asked gently, frightened that she might inadvertently cause him to shut down when it was clear Ryan was in serious need of a friendly ear to help him organize his thoughts.

Ryan shrugged, trying to collect them before continuing, "I don't know, I just know it shouldn't be weird because it's Theresa and it's never weird with her. We went through stuff together that- well, you know, that matters. Good and bad stuff, some really bad stuff. Now... it's just like, echoes of chemistry, or something. I don't know..." He looked away, almost ashamed of his feelings, "Hollow. And lately, I get this feeling she's keeping something from me."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, just something. I overheard her talking with Jay, the guy that lodges with us, they were fighting about something, and I don't know what."

"I don't follow," said Summer.

"Spanish," explained Ryan simply, "Not my strong suit. But I got the impression they were talking about me."

"Well, have you asked her about it?"

"No. I mean, it's probably none of my business."

"Great. Boy logic," Summer snarked. She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked squarely down at Ryan, "You want things to be weird between you and Theresa? A good way is to not talk to each other about what you're thinking. That's what me and Cohen did and look how well that turned out; he got the hell out of dodge and could be in a ditch somewhere, and I'm here by myself, bored, lonely and definitely not having sex. She's probably just freaked out 'cause she's down there and she knows that you could bail on her any time and head back here."

"Summer, she's having a baby, I'm not going to bail on her," said Ryan, feeling the need to shrink back into the sand to avoid her wrath.

"Well, I know that and you know that, but does she know that?" she clarified, "I mean, no offence Ryan, but you're not exactly known for your scintillating conversational skills."

Her rant over, Summer sighed and dropped back on to the sand, "Just talk to her. Before it's too late, okay?"

Ryan looked over her momentarily, the unwavering honesty of her words offering clarity to his troubled thoughts. "You're right," he said, after he'd gathered them together enough to form a coherent sentence, "I should just talk to her."

"Damn straight," Summer replied, her tone lightening once more.

"Thanks, Summer," Ryan said, reaching his hand out for hers and weaving through her little finger with his own.

"Just call me Lucy van Pelt."

"Huh?"

"Lucy, in Peanuts? She gives out advice and stuff."

"Oh, right. Okay."

"Like you don't know what I'm talking about, Snoopy," Summer teased.

"Bite me," said Ryan, lightheartedly, letting go of Summer's hand to give her the finger.

"In your dreams, Chino," Summer replied breezily, returning the gesture, before squeezing her hand around his and letting their lightly clasped hands drop to the sand contentedly, "In your dreams."

* * *

Bookending the feast of Thai food that had been lovingly ordered for the celebration dinner, there was crab cakes for starters, with birthday cake for dessert, the latter of which was, despite Ryan's protests, accompanied by hearty singing. The trick candles kept re-lighting themselves, which despite his initial goofy smile, Ryan didn't find as amusing as everyone else, but he hid it well. He was helped immensely in his task when Kirsten accidentally set fire first to napkin and then to the table cloth, and he found himself creasing over with laughter as during the course of extinguishing the flames, Kirsten liberally distributed water over Ryan, Summer, the cake, and most notably Sandy's trousers in an extremely unfortunate location. After they'd finally regained their sanity and Sandy had changed his trousers to regain his dignity, Ryan was feeling more relaxed than he would have thought possible even only hours before. The nagging voice in the back of voice reminding him that this would be his last visit to Newport as a member of the Cohen family instead of a family friend had, for the time being at least, fallen silent.

Ninety minutes and far too many humiliating Playstation defeats later, Ryan walked Summer to the front door.

"So, did you have a good day?" Summer asked as Ryan helped her slip her coat on.

"Yeah, I did, actually. Not too weird. Thank you."

"I'm glad, " she said turning back to face him, "Look, I should have said this earlier, but on the beach I was too busy yelling at you and then Sandy was doing his incontinence impression and then I was so busy totally kicking your ass, that I forgot-"

"-What is Summer?" Ryan interrupted her gently.

"It's..." she stumbled, not knowing how to begin. Honesty. Stick to honesty. Refocused, she tried again, "I know that we haven't always been friends. Mostly 'cause I've not always been nice and you're a little bit scary sometimes. But truthfully, I missed you Ryan."

"I missed you too. And about this afternoon; thanks for letting me talk at you."

"No problem," said Summer, blushing slightly under the unwavering sincerity of Ryan's gaze, "You know how I love to be in the loop."

"Seriously," Ryan said, earnestly, "Back home, everyone talks in code. I forgot how good it felt not having to second guess all the time."

Summer looked down briefly, trying to figure out the best way to say what she wanted before opting once again for the direct approach, "Chi- Ryan."

"Relax, Summer," Ryan said a half-smile playing across his lips, "I got over the Chino thing a long time ago, believe me."

"Theresa's baby," she said after a moment, "You really think she's yours, don't you?"

"Yeah," Ryan sighed, resigned to his fate, "I do."

"But if she's not; you're going still going to do the dad thing?"

"I have to. I can't-"

"-I know. And I know the others don't get that, not really. I just wanted to tell you; I do. And I think it's pretty amazing."

"Thanks, Summer," Ryan whispered, looking down his feet bashfully, "That means a lot."

"I should go," Summer said after a moment's quiet, glad that she hadn't said the wrong thing, "Take care of yourself Ryan. I'd say don't be a stranger, but I kind of figure you're going to be, so... just promise me you'll get your ass down to an Internet café every once in a while, okay? They do have technology in Chechnya, right?

"Yeah, we have technology; I can check my mail at the library."

"Good. So no excuses, okay?"

"No excuses."

Ending their day together as they begun, Summer pulled Ryan in for a close hug. They stood locked together for a moment; their arms wrapped tight and warm around each other, as if through sustaining their embrace they could shut out the world and all its bitterness.

"Love you, Chino," Summer whispered, giving him a quick peck on the cheek and breaking away.

"Love you too, Summer," Ryan replied softly, placing his hand deliberately on hers as she reached for the door handle and turned it.

Pausing momentarily, Summer turned back to Ryan and smiled, her eyes sparkling wickedly, "Thank you."

* * *

After he'd listened to Summer's car pull away, Ryan started back toward the kitchen. He made it as far as the staircase before surrendering to his whirring emotions and sat down on the bottom step in an attempt to recompose himself before rejoining Sandy and Kirsten. He hadn't missed Seth so keenly since leaving two months before, hadn't felt so out of place in the Cohen household since the trouble with Oliver. His time here was over.

"Summer gone?" said Sandy gently, permeating his thoughts.

Looking up to see his guardian smiling kindly at him, Ryan forced himself to snap out of it, "Yeah."

"Nice girl. We've missed having her around the place."

"Yeah, Summer's great," Ryan agreed, standing up, "I'll come help clear up."

"It's all done," teased Sandy, leading the way back to the kitchen, "You timed it beautifully, kid."

"Sorry," Ryan replied automatically.

"I'm kidding. Besides, it's your birthday dinner. Let somebody rally round you for a change."

"Okay," smiled Ryan, glad for the offer of a weekend off, even if the reason was tenuous at best.

"Hey, you're back," said Kirsten, joining them in the kitchen, bringing the remainder of the birthday cake with her, "Just the person I wanted to see."

"Seriously, I don't think I could eat anything else," Ryan said, worried there were more culinary surprises to come, "It was all great, though, thank you."

"Don't worry, you're safe until breakfast," Kirsten said, carefully maneuvering the cake into a tin and sealing the lid, "I was hoping to pick your brains, actually."

"Sure. What for?"

"Seth left us a message last night, gave us a clue about where he is," said Sandy, pulling out a chair for Ryan at the table as he moved round to the answering machine, "But you know Seth, can't just come out and say something outright and we have no idea what he's talking about; we were hoping you could help us decipher."

"No problem, " said Ryan, intrigued.

"Cool, okay, listen up," Sandy replied and hit the play button. A few moments later, Seth's disembodied voice floated out into the kitchen.

_"Hey, it's me. I'm about a week away, maybe two. It's beautiful here, so I don't know. I'm not sailing anymore, but don't worry I'm not hitching. Tell Ryan that the Pacific really is as blue as it has been in my dreams, he'll tell you where I am. You remember the name of the town, don't you? That's if he's around, I don't know, whatever. Give my love to Summer, if you see her. I've gotta go. Love you guys."_

There was a pause in the message as if Seth was debating whether or not to say something else and then the hollow clack of a receiver being replaced. Sandy reached over and cut the machine lady off mid swing and turned to Ryan.

"Does that mean anything to you? 'Cause it sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

"Yeah, it does," said Ryan, smiling to himself, "He's in Zihauatanejo."

"Where?" asked Sandy, confusedly.

"Zihauatanejo," repeated Ryan, his smile dropping as he saw Sandy's annoyance mounting, "It's in- "

"- Mexico," Kirsten murmured softly, shaking her head.

"What the Hell is he doing in Mexico?!" Sandy asked bluntly, "Seth and Mexico is not a good combination. And what's so special about Zihauatanejo?"

"It's in the film, The Shawshank Redemption?" Ryan said nervously, suddenly feeling as though this was a chronically bad idea, "It's where the characters disappear to."

"Unbelievable," Sandy grunted, "Seth runs away because a movie told him to. That does it; he's grounded until he's thirty."

"Sandy," said Kirsten cautiously, sensing Ryan's growing unease.

"I mean really, sailing down Baja California is one thing, but this is ridiculous. Tahiti, I'd have understood, but this?!" Sandy, continued regardless, swept up by frustration that had been months in the making, "I swear, when I get my hands on him, he's going- "

"Sandy," Kirsten snapped at him firmly as Ryan visibly flinched at Sandy's words.

Sandy looked over at her and Ryan, saw the markedly increased tension in his body language and instantly recognized his tirade, "Sorry," he said, as he tried to regain his temper, "I shouldn't have... Excuse me."

His aggravation still burning, Sandy strode from the room, leaving Kirsten and Ryan alone with their awkwardness.

"I'm sorry about Sandy, you know he didn't mean-"

"- Yeah, I know," replied Ryan trying to brush past it.

"I can't believe he's in Mexico," Kirsten exclaimed after a moment shaking her head, "Well, at least he's back on dry land."

Ryan shrugged, not knowing exactly what to say, "It's pretty wild."

"It's stupid, that's what it is; he takes French. Which reminds me, I have something for you," Kirsten said as she headed into the den. After a moment's pause, Ryan followed lamely after her.

"You've already given me a present," said Ryan, thinking of the ridiculous amount of clothes he'd found waiting for him in the pool house, "And you didn't have to do that."

"Ryan, I told you, it's your birthday, presents come as standard," said Kirsten as she retrieved a paper shopping bag from inside the sideboard and brought it over to him.

"I picked up your books for next term; thought you might want to get ahead with your reading whilst summer's still here."

As he looked at Kirsten smiling and she held the bag out to him Ryan felt his heart grow cold and sink down through his stomach.

"Ryan, what is it?"

"Kirsten, I'm not going to go back to school next semester."

"You're what?!" Kirsten burst out in disbelief.

"Not going back to school. Not Harbor, anyways. I've re-enrolled back at my old high school."

"Why?"

"Because..." Ryan sighed wearily, hating that the evening had inevitably come to this, "Do I have to explain it to you?"

"Yes, Ryan, you do have to explain it to me," Kirsten replied, reacting sharply to his tone of voice, "This is your education, it's too important to turn your back on it."

"I'm not turning my back on it, I'm just transferring. I still want to graduate. I still _am_ going to graduate," he clarified hastily.

"And then what?"

"I don't know, get a job."

"And what about college?"

"What about it?"

"If you want to be an architect, I think you're kind of going to need it."

"An architect?" Ryan snorted disdainfully, "I haven't wanted to be an architect for a long time."

"Since when?"

"Since I found out you need about seven years at university and I can't even afford one."

"Ryan, if it's about the money-"

"- It's not just about the money!" Ryan burst out, feeling bad for shouting at Kirsten, but completely fed up with the Cohens' inability to understand the reality of his situation, "Sorry, but there's so much more to it than that. It's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be, Ryan. I'm not saying that going to Harbor would be the simplest option, but in the long run..." seeing Ryan's unconcealed skepticism, Kirsten trailed off and sighed angrily, "Things are undeniably hard for you now, but I just don't understand why you are determined to make everything so much more difficult for yourself."

"Me? You want me get the bus an hour each way to Newport, just so I can go to a school I can't afford with kids who look down on me, in clothes I never bought, for an education that won't get me anywhere, then head back home to go to work. When do I do my homework? On the bus? Or are you going to buy me a car too?"

"If it would keep you at Harbor, I would. If it means picking you up and dropping you back in Chino everyday, I'll do that too. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Ryan, don't you know that yet?"

"I know that," Ryan said truthfully, turning away from Kirsten's unwavering stare, "I just don't understand it."

"Well, whose fault is that?" Kirsten snapped back in an uncharacteristic display of aggression, "Because at this point I don't know what else we can do."

"Would someone like to explain to me what is going on here?"

At the sound of Sandy's voice Ryan and Kirsten stopped and turned to see him standing in the doorway of the den, looking only slightly less thunderous than Kirsten.

Before Ryan had time to think, Kirsten started first, "Ryan, apparently, is dropping out of school."

"What?!" said Sandy incredulously.

"I'm not dropping out of school. I just can't take the bus two hours everyday when I could walk to Chino Hills."

"Which is tantamount to the same thing."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ryan grunted.

"Oh, I'm being ridiculous? You're the one sabotaging your future and I'm being ridiculous?"

"I'm not sabotaging anything. Chino Hills may be kind of rough, but you know what? So am I. I'm not this golden boy; I get in fights, I skip school, I like drinking beer, smoking pot and I bug people. The night I went out with Trey, it wasn't the first time I broke the law; it was just the first time I got caught. You've got this image of me as a foundling left on the wrong doorstep, but that's just crap and you know it."

"Hey!" said Sandy breaking in angrily for the first time, "Don't talk to your mother that way."

"My mother?" Ryan questioned him spitefully.

Silence cut through the air like sheet lightning, all three locked in disbelief at how far they had let things spiral out of control.

"Excuse me," said Kirsten, breaking the deadlock and leaving Sandy and Ryan alone to regard each other. For the first time ever, Sandy looked at Ryan with an element of disgust in his eyes. Unable to meet Sandy's gaze, Ryan hung his head, ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly before Sandy could speak, "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you really shouldn't," Sandy agreed, his anger barely below the surface.

"When I left, I knew it would be hard, but... you've no idea how much I miss this, I can't even-" Ryan broke off. Even at his lowest ebb, he'd never cried in front of Sandy before and he was determined not to start now, not when he knew he had to leave, "I miss you guys, Seth, so much, just feeling like I had a home, like I belonged somewhere, God, I miss everything about here." He sighed, his downcast expression echoing the feeling in his heart, "But there's nothing I can do, I'm living in Chino now."

"You know we miss you too. But Ryan, if you don't feel you belong in Chino, why do you stay there?" Sandy asked, exasperatedly.

"Because I belong to it, I always I have. It's who I am, who I'm always going to be. That life, it owns me. And it's never going to let go. I can't marry my way out of it like Julie and I don't have the strength in me to go out there on my own like you did. I wish I did, but I just don't, not anymore and that's just something I have to deal with. And so do you."

"Do you know what?" Sandy said softly after a moment's thought, "Do what you want. You're going to anyway. You don't want to be dependent, that's great, I respect that. But you're seventeen, Ryan. So you can act like you've got not alternative, make believe as if that last year was about some kind of mission and nothing else. Pretend that you don't need our help, as though we're crazy for offering it to you. But don't pretend like you don't know why."

Ryan looked up at Sandy, his insides churning with self-loathing as the true meaning of Sandy's words hit home. Before he could respond, Sandy walked past him and headed to the kitchen from where the soft sounds of Kirsten trying not to cry drifted.

* * *

Ryan left the house half an hour later, returning to the poolhouse to put his belongings together. After a few minutes hard consideration, he added the new clothes that Kirsten had thoughtfully picked out for him, in the hope that she would recognize that his behavior this evening and subsequent departure was a matter of self-preservation and not rejection. He'd managed to wriggle out of the bathroom window and slip around the back of the house, climbing into next-door's back yard before slipping down the side path, out of the way of the Cohens' watchful eyes. It had taken him half an hour to walk to the nearest bus stand, ironically located in front of Harbor, and another ninety minutes and two different buses before he was back in Chino.

The tears that he'd unconsciously been shedding sporadically since he'd left the Cohens' house had finally run dry as he walked the last few blocks towards the house that was now irrefutably his home. As he approached, he noticed the light in the living room was still on, which considering it was so late it was getting early, surprised him. He hoped Theresa wasn't throwing a party; after everything that had happened at the Cohens', Ryan didn't think he had it in him to provide explanations for his return, let alone to be sociable. Cutting across the front lawn to the path, Ryan was relieved to hear the absence of loud music and crowds of people laughing drunkenly.

Unlocking the door, he heard Theresa's voice ring clear, fearful and panicked,

"Oh my god, Jay, quick, someone's home."

"Relax, already," Jay replied nonchalantly, "It'll be fine."

"Jay!"

Expecting to find Theresa and Jay in various stages of undress or worse, Ryan slowly pushed open the door.

"What...?" he asked in disbelief as he took in the sight before him.

The room was full of music and light. Boxes upon boxes of CDs, DVDs, cover notes and jewel cases littered every available surface in the room. And in the center, looking up at Ryan with eyes full of guilt, was Theresa.

"Please don't tell me you've done what I think you've done," he whispered, as what little remained of his world collapsed.

"I'm sorry, Ryan," she whispered back, "You weren't supposed to find out."

"I can't believe you've done this. How could you let her do this?" he asked Jay angrily, letting the door slam shut behind him as he came into the house.

"Are you kidding? This was her idea!" Jay replied, crossing the room to meet Ryan, dismissing his accusation with a laugh.

"You think this is funny?" Ryan said, dropping his bag on the floor and stepping in closer. The anger he'd felt bubbling inside him earlier in the evening had returned full force and he was itching with rage.

"Why don't you calm down, man?"

"Calm down? You're running a piracy den out of my girlfriend's house and you're telling me to calm down?"

Jay turned to Theresa, a smirk all over his face, "Is he always this much of an ass when he gets back from Newport? The Cohens' self-righteousness rubbing off on you now?"

Ryan responded with headbutt. Jay staggered back, but didn't fall, taking advantage of Ryan's momentary distracted glance around the room to sucker punch him. Knocked sideways by the force of Jay's blow, Ryan staggered into the kitchen table, sending a box of counterfeit DVDs clattering to the floor. He turned back just in time to see Jay moving in on him, managing to partially sidestep the tackle as the two of them crashed on to the floor, Theresa's pleads to stop ringing deafly on their ears.

The punches fell clumsily between them, the neat assembly line that Theresa and Jay had created scattering in their wake. Before long, Jay's size advantage began to overwhelm Ryan and he found himself pinned to the floor, taking in a short succession of tired but determined hits to his face. Seeing Jay raise his arm to deliver a final, decisive punch, Ryan closed his eyes in anticipation, but the strike never came. Instead, he felt Jay's weight being pulled from him and before he knew precisely what was happening, he was being flipped on to his back as a police officer shouted his name questioningly.

Ryan's world blurred around him through pain and shock as he confirmed it, bile rising in his throat as he felt the cold click of handcuffs around his wrists, heard the police officer read him his rights. Feeling as helpless as if in a nightmare, Ryan looked over at Theresa, as another officer took her hands behind her back.

"Be careful with her, she's pregnant," he heard himself say, his voice detached as if it belonged to somebody else.

"Is that correct ma'am?" the officer asked Theresa.

Nodding numbly in reply, she looked back at Ryan as the police officer behind him pulled him to his feet, "I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Ryan? Please, I'm so sorry."

Too shell-shocked to reply, Ryan nodded in kind as he was led out of the house behind Jay and out to a waiting police car. Looking out of the window as Theresa and Jay were taken to a separate vehicles, the world suddenly slipped back into focus, cruel, cold and clear. This was where he belonged.

* * *

I know it took a while, but like I said, it was enormous. I hope this chapter worked and I would really appreciate your thoughts.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: This has been an excpetionally difficult chapter for me, hence the longitude.

* * *

_  
"To live is to risk dying  
__To hope is to risk despair."  
__Janet Rand

* * *

_

Ryan felt numb as he sat on the cold bench in a colder room of the local police station. He tried not to think about the guarding officer regarding him with eyes full of contempt from beside the door in the corner, or the sound of junkies, thugs and thieves exchanging insults with each other from the cells down the hall, or the unrelenting chain tethering his right wrist to the steel bench, or the look in Theresa's eyes as he'd been led away from her. Especially not that.

"Can you blink for me, Ryan?" asked the police station's medical officer kindly as she shone the light in his swollen eye.

Ryan squinted as he complied, the unforgiving brightness not doing anything to help his malingering headache.

"Any nausea?" the medical officer inquired on seeing Ryan flinch.

"Not really," Ryan said, his voice as detached as it had been back at Theresa's house. Home. Such a little word for something that meant so much. In the past year he'd had three. Now it looked he was going to have another place to lay his head, and if Jay had anything to do with it, for a longer time that Ryan could bear to contemplate.

The second the thought entered Ryan's mind, he had an immediate need to be sick. Pushing the medical officer clumsily to one side he doubled over, the acrid taste of vomit filling his senses as he threw up on the floor, barely missing her shoes and hitting his own. She stepped back hurriedly as Ryan retched again, bringing up the further remnants of birthday cake and Thai green curry in a putrid mess, his right hand, already swollen from his fight with Jay, twisting painfully behind him as he unconsciously pulled against the handcuffs.

For what seemed a life age, he tried to remain completely still as he waited for his stomach to settle before he allowed himself to risk breathing again. Wiping the back of his free hand slowly across his dripping nose, he scuffed his feet out of the splatter on the floor.

"Here, drink this," said the medical officer, holding out a cup of water to Ryan. Taking it gratefully, he rinsed his mouth, spitting neatly into the puddle between his feet.

"Thank you," he told the officer as he closed his eyes and leant back against the wall behind him. Grateful for the surprisingly tactful few moments to compose himself he took another drink of the water, this time letting it cool his burning throat.

"Better?" inquired the medical officer as she took the cup from him and tossed it into a trashcan.

"Yeah," Ryan nodded before adding politely, "Sorry."

"Not to worry. I've had worse, believe me," she said matter-of-factly as she shone the light in his eyes once more, "Did you hit your head, Ryan?"

"Don't think so. I'm okay."

"What about headaches?"

"Not really," Ryan lied to her easily, not wanting to be subject to scrutiny any longer, "I'm just tired."

"I want you to keep an eye out for him," she said, standing up straight and turning to the guard in the corner, "Put him in his own cell, check on him every fifteen minutes and wake him up every half a hour for the next four hours." She turned back to Ryan, "Better awake and irate than concussed and dead."

"Whatever," said Ryan, completely exhausted, just wanting it to be over, to be left alone. Today had been one of the longest of his life, right up there with his Dad's arrest. He didn't want to talk to anyone, he didn't want see anyone; his vicious thoughts of self-abomination were company enough. Despite everything he'd worked for, all he'd given up, he'd failed to change his path in life, utterly and completely. His mother was right; he was going to rot in jail and this time there was nobody to help him. Like father, like son.

"He's all yours," the officer said finally, crossing the to where her bag rested on the other side of the room, "I'm going to check on your friend Jay now, Ryan but if you feel any worse, nausea, headaches, strange smells or tastes in your mouth, just let someone know, and I'll be right there."

"Jay's not my friend," Ryan snapped venomously as the guard bent over to unshackle him from the bench.

She blinked in surprise at Ryan's sudden change in demeanor, "No, I guess he isn't."

"Sorry," Ryan apologized again, before remembering there was somebody he cared about. "What about Theresa? Have you seen her?"

"The pregnant girl? Is she your girlfriend?"

Not knowing if it was the truth any longer, he nodded slowly as the guard pulled his hands roughly behind him, either unaware or unsympathetic as Ryan winced at the twinge in his swollen right hand as it was cuffed to his left once more.

"I've seen her. She's fine. More worried about you, in fact," the medical officer said, although whether her softening tone was through compassion or pity, Ryan couldn't tell.

"Oh," Ryan replied simply, unable to stop himself thinking that Theresa's concern for his well-being was coming a good deal too late.

"Time to go," the guard said shifting Ryan firmly towards the door.

Her professional exterior firmly incorporated once more, the medical officer handed the guard an ice pack.

"For his hand. I'll get someone to clear this up," she said, nodding towards where the puddle of what was now all that remained of Ryan's birthday dinner festered in the corner.

The guard nodded and led Ryan out of the room, down through a corridor and into to another where a line of heavy cell doors looked imposingly into the small space, appearing to making it shrink further. Leading him into the first unoccupied room, the guard released Ryan's hands and handed him the ice pack.

"Thank you," Ryan said reflexively, tentatively accepting it.

"This your first time?" asked the guard, his face softening for the first time as he sensed Ryan's disquiet. Despite his earlier assumptions, he could something about this kid was different.

"Hmm?"

"In lock-up? Is this your first time?"

"No," replied Ryan quietly, the consequences of obliterating his probation invading his mind, "It's not."

"You got a lawyer? Somebody you need to call?"

"No," Ryan answered again, his voice cracking involuntarily as the harsh reality of his situation well and truly hit home, "No, I don't have anybody."

"Right. Well, you just shout if you need anything."

Ryan nodded spiritlessly and without another word left the guard left the cell, shutting and locking the thick metal door behind him with an ominous succession of echoing clanks.

Too tired to survey his surroundings, Ryan took the pack and moved to the unfriendly bench that protruded from one of the equally unfriendly walls. Slipping his laceless, unpleasantly damp boots off, he pulled the thin blanket over himself and lay back on the bench, wincing as he wrapped the cold of the ice pack around his bruised and gently swelling hand.

In the dead space of the cell, the silence was almost absolute, the solitude welcoming. Although he tried not to, Ryan couldn't help but be reminded of the quietness of the poolhouse; the sounds of traffic rushing by from a distant road reminding him of the far away ocean that he could always imagine hearing as he lay awake at night at the Cohens'. The ocean, the Cohen's, the life with them he once knew; they all seemed so far away.

* * *

Seth didn't think he'd ever experienced a city like Guadalajara. Everything about it filled his senses; the baying of the traffic, the vibrancy of the lights, the groups of young men jostling through him in the street, the smell of their teenage aftershave mixing with the rich aromas hovering outside the restaurants he passed, all of it screaming for his attention. It had taken him all day and much of the night to get here, but though his body was exhausted, his mind hummed. He was headed for home.

Heading past his bike into the front door of the tiny hostel he'd found, Seth couldn't help but grin at the very thought of home. Waking up on the beach in Zihuatanejo he'd had the moment of clarity he'd been searching for when he first set out from Newport on the Summer Breeze; running away had been dumb.

The problem with being Seth Cohen was that no matter you went, Seth Cohen came along for the ride and he brought all his emotional baggage with him. The discontent that had slowly been building steadily inside him for months hadn't been left in his bedroom with Captain Oats and the letters of cowardice, but had stowed away on his voyage to Tahiti. If he couldn't work out his issues at home with his family, his girlfriend and his friends close by to help him then why the Hell had he thought he could do it by himself on a tiny island in the middle of the South Pacific? On the other hand, his epiphany had happened on a beautiful beach after spending the night with a beautiful girl. It was, Seth acknowledged, an interesting paradox. And one that could wait. Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a long day.

* * *

By the time Ryan had been awoken for the fourth time, his hand had stopped throbbing. By the sixth, his head had stopped feeling full of cotton wool. And by the time the new day guard had woken him at eight thirty, he'd stopped feeling anything at all. His sleep had been fitful and light, his mind too busy to truly surrender to rest, despite the protests of his weary body. But in-between sleeping and waking, dreams had infiltrated his thoughts; distinctly not been of the Langston Hughes variety, stretching across brief snatches of sleep, tenacious and quietly monstrous. Ryan had actually been perversely glad when he been led to an interview room, no doubt to await the patronizing and amateur psychology of a tired and cranky sargent. At least he had coffee and toast. He'd have preferred it if the coffee wasn't bitter, the toast wasn't cold and soggy, if he'd had been able to see Theresa and if the guard hadn't felt it necessary to leave his right hand cuffed to the metal rail bolted to the table top, but he was back in Kansas now and the rainbow was well and truly out of sight.

Twenty minutes later Ryan's good mood had dissipated and his self-loathing had increased almost as much as his need to pee. He realized now that when he'd anticipated that he'd be subjected to amateur psychology, he'd been overly optimistic; the dynamic Officer Yorke sitting opposite from him now would need a college course in order to think that creatively. Instead, he favored the blunt and obvious form of questioning, favored by reluctant third generation cops the world over. So far Ryan had indifferently deflected his questions on his criminal record, the nature of his relationship with Theresa and the small matter of the hundreds of pirated CDs and DVDs that had been seized from the house. Just to piss him off, Ryan hadn't made direct eye contact once and was incessantly sliding his cuffed hand back and forth along the rail, creating a faint and distinctly irritating high pitched whine. Now, Yorke was re-reading through the case file open on the table in front of him, trying to gather the few unimaginative thoughts he had in order to find a new line of questioning. He didn't seem to be succeeding. If it weren't for the fact that Ryan knew his future was monumentally screwed, he'd have almost considered it entertaining.

His next approach apparently decided upon, Yorke leaned back in his chair and took another slip of his coffee, "You live with Kirsten and Sanford Cohen, correct?" he asked casually.

"No," Ryan said levelly, looking up at Yorke for the first time and abruptly bringing his rail scratching to a halt.

"No?" Yorke repeated redundantly, his interest peaking at Ryan's change in demeanor. No doubt re-enacting some episode of The Shield in his head, Yorke picked up the file and flipped at the edges with his fingers.

"No," Ryan clarified, pissed at himself for having let his guard down, "I don't live with them anymore."

"They're listed as your legal guardians."

"I moved out."

"You moved out?"

"It's complicated."

"That's a shocker," Yorke quipped, his flippant tone annoying Ryan more with each passing moment. If Yorke noticed or cared Ryan's irritation, he wasn't letting on, "Was it your choice?"

"What?"

"To move out. Was it your choice? Because a kid with your history living with folks with that lifestyle, I can imagine-"

"- No, you can't," Ryan interrupted him sharply. Monumentally screwed or not, he'd be damned if was going to sit here and listen to this kind of crap.

"I beg your pardon?" Yorke asked, ceasing momentarily from his incessant file flicking.

"You can't imagine. I don't care what you've read, or what anybody else has said to you; you don't know anything about them, about me, so just shut up."

"Mind your manners."

"Or you'll do what?" snapped Ryan, with absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort, "There's nothing you could do that would make me feel any worse than I do already, so just charge me and get it over with."

"Well, you see Ryan that's the tricky part. Your girlfriend is insisting you had nothing to do with it. But then your friend Jay says you masterminded the whole operation, used contacts you made through your brother, which opens a whole other can of worms."

"Trey?!" Ryan asked incredulously, finding it hard to comprehend that Jay could sink that low. He couldn't remember ever feeling more stupid; after so many years living with an idiots, users, thugs and petty criminals, he should have spotted this shyster a mile off.

"I take it you're denying Jay's accusation?"

"Look," said Ryan, trying to get a hold on his temper, "Whatever you believe I did, believe this- Trey had nothing to do with it. I haven't even seen him since last year."

"I know, I checked. But all that means is you haven't seen him for a year."

"I haven't."

"What about talking on the phone?"

"I haven't done much of that either."

"Really?"

"Really. Chrismuk- Christmas, that's it," Ryan corrected himself quickly, "He doesn't even know I'm back in Chino. He'd probably kill me if he did."

"Uh-huh."

Despite the gravity of his situation, Ryan couldn't help but smile inwardly a little at the thought of his eldest brother. As weird as things were between them right now, and as brashly as Ryan suspected Trey would kick off if he knew how badly Ryan's new life had twisted off course, he still missed him. More than he ever thought that he could. He was only a year from turning eighteen, which meant he could expect to spend some time in the near future behind the bars of a jail proper, not just in the testosterone lined hallways of the local juvenile detention center. It would be nice if he got to see a friendly face, even if it was the butt-ugly visage of his brother's. Perhaps they could fix things between them. And if they could just get Eddie on the inside, then the old gang would be truly reunited. And Ryan, Arturo and Trey could collectively beat the crap out of him for having laid a finger on Theresa.

Theresa. Christ.

Suddenly all Ryan could think of was the fallen expression on her face as he'd had been arrested; guilty, lonely, broken. His heart ached at the very memory of it. As bad things looked for him right now, Ryan knew that were a hundred thousand times worse for her. And the baby, his daughter. A life tainted before it had even begun. Even his mother hadn't been able to manage that one.

"You okay kid?"

Ryan looked up at Officer Yorke, surprised to see a genuine look of concern on the man's face, "I'm sorry?"

"I asked if you were alright. You spaced out on me."

"I don't know," Ryan replied dumbly, feeling the room spin. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in attempt to bring it back to focus.

"You're pale. Put your head between knees."

"I'm okay," Ryan lied, as he heard Officer Yorke stand up and move over to the door.

"Do you know how bad a missed concussion turned nasty is for my résumé? I said put your head between knees."

Reluctantly complying, Ryan listened as Yorke asked the guard outside to fetch the on call medical officer.

"I don't need a doctor," he said as the fog in his head began to clear once more. Ryan looked up briefly at the kind-faced man stood in the doorway and recognized for the first time that he wasn't the only person who had been misjudged recently.

"Kid-" Yorke said kindly, his voice genuine in its concern.

"- I'll be alright, really," Ryan insisted, sitting up once more and leaning back in his chair.

"Ryan-"

"Please. I'm fine."

Yorke stood on the threshold, torn between what he had been told was right and what he knew to be right. Ryan looked over at the man, saw him thinking it over. There were so many choices to be made, it was all too easy to get it wrong.

His course decided upon, Ryan made his decision and looked Officer Yorke squarely in the eye.

"I need to make a phonecall."

Silently, slowly, Yorke in understanding. "Okay, Ryan."

"Thank you," Ryan murmured quietly. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his head on the table, cradled in the nook of his arm. This time he would get it right.

* * *

Feedback, more than ever would be appreciated. This story will be finished before Christmas. 


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: It's been so long, even I can barely remember what I wrote. Thank you to everybody who kept encouraging me to keep going with this story.

* * *

_"I am not what I have nor what I do;  
__But what I was I am, I am even I."_

_Christina Rossetti

* * *

_

Kirsten had long ago given up on the mysteries of life; aside from the occasional pot fuelled stupor, it was not as if she'd ever given them particular attention, so she did not consider it any great loss that she had never developed a personal philosophy for Why We Are Here and other such matters. She could care less about the grand narratives, they didn't interest her in the slightest, she was all about the small stuff. And hell, was she good at it. From business to home, her instincts were second to none. Kirsten knew Sandy was going to quit Public Defender's office before he did, she knew that Seth would eventually break Anna's heart and, as much as she had wanted to be wrong, her own too. So when she picked up the phone she just knew that it was Ryan on the other end; the silence was so him, she could practically see him there hunched over, as if embarrassed by his very existence. And when without a word he'd hung up on her, she knew something was horribly wrong.

* * *

Eighty miles away, Ryan glumly held on to the phone that now rested back on its cradle. It'd had taken him all of his courage to dial the Cohen's number, it had never occurred to him that it might not have been Sandy that answered. The sound of Kirsten's mellow voice had been so completely unexpected that he had lost his nerve and hung up without speaking. Confessing to Sandy was one thing, confessing to Kirsten was quite another, something that in all honesty he didn't think he could handle. Not without running a not inconsiderable risk of crying at any rate, and if Ryan had learned anything in the past year, it was that crying in a correctional facility was not something you wanted to be seen doing, no matter who you were or what the circumstances. 

"You going to try again kid?"

Ryan stared at the phone in his hand, determinedly ignoring the officer guarding him as he tried to decide whether he had just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

"Kid? We don't have all day here."

"I know, okay?" Ryan snapped, without thought for manners or reason. Brilliant. Another mistake.

"Hey. A little respect, alright?"

"Sorry." Ryan replied automatically without contrition, before sighing to himself. He let go of the phone and turned to the officer. "I'm sorry. Really."

"Look whatever," said the officer with an irritation that Ryan could sense was not entirely directed at him. "I don't have time for indecision. Are you going to try again or not?"

"Yeah, okay." Ryan said finally. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his sweaty hands down the side of his jeans and reached for the phone again, nearly leaping out of his skin as it rang before him.

Without thought of asking permission, he reached for it, his breath shaky in apprehension even as he anticipated the voice on the other end, "Hello?"

"Ryan?"

Kirsten's voice flooded through him with warmth and kindness.

"Hi."

"Hey, sweetie. We were worried about you, I tried the house."

Ryan felt six years old again; unable to find the words he knew others wanted to hear from him and were waiting for.

"Ryan? Are you there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

"I wanted to tell you; whatever happened last night, it doesn't matter. Whatever was said last night doesn't matter. All that matters is that is that we love you and we're going to help you, okay? We're going to fix this. We're going to come down there and we're going to fix it."

"I'm so sorry, last night, what I said-"

"- It doesn't matter. We're going to start over. We're going to come down to the house and talk this out, properly, all of us."

"I'm not at the house."

"Are you at the building site? I thought you didn't work Sundays."

"I don't," said Ryan, disgusted with himself, that it had come to this, again. "When I got back something happened. Theresa- "

"- Are you alright? Is she alright? I mean, is it, it's not the baby-"

"God, no, it's not- no. The baby's fine, Theresa's she's fine, it's not like…" he stuttered and stumbled into silence, words without warning now an insurmountable obstacle. Sensing his frustration as keenly as she had sensed his phonecall minutes earlier, Kirsten pressed him gently.

"Ryan, please, whatever it is, it'll be okay, just tell me."

Bolstered by Kirsten's words of reassurance, words began to tumble out of Ryan like they would never stop. "When I got back, they were in the middle of packing all these CDs and DVDs, just boxes of them and I don't know where they got them, or who they were doing it for, but I knew nothing about it. I promise I didn't. And now Theresa's in trouble and Jay's saying that I planned the whole thing and I knew nothing, I promise, I just came back and found them- "

Making sense of Ryan's words, Kirsten's heart sank right through to the tile venue as they continued to fall desperately out of the phone. Suddenly she knew that there was a whole lot more to fix than just a teenager forced to play at being a man. More than that, she knew she couldn't let him play at it any longer.

"- Ryan? Stop. You need to slow down and tell me where you are."

"Chino. The police station."

As much as she tried to hide it, Ryan couldn't help but feel his insides knot in self-loathing as he heard Kirsten's fractional pause before she answered, the small sigh that preceded her words.

"Okay. Okay. You need to listen to me, okay? Can you do that?"

When he didn't answer, Kirsten did what she needed to and spoke sharply down the phone. "Ryan? Are you listening?"

Making a concerted effort to pull his focus in Ryan nodded as he answered. "I'm here."

"Have you been charged with anything?"

"No. Not yet."

Allowing herself a silent sigh of relief, Kirsten continued. "Alright then. Don't say anything until we get there, okay?"

"I'm so sorry, I never meant-"

"Hey, shh. It's going to be alright.

"But I-"

"- Ryan, it doesn't matter. Everything's going to be alright."

Finally and completely, Ryan laid down the last thread of his misplaced pride and chivalry before Kirsten and accepted the offer she and Sandy had made to him over a year before. "You promise?"

"I promise. We're coming. We'll fix it."

* * *

Sandy sat on his surfboard, the sun warm on his back, the constant rocking motion of the ocean beneath him calming his mind. He hadn't slept much last night, his finely honed Jewish guilt had kept his thoughts far too busy for that, and now he was so tired he'd wiped out almost every time he'd got up on the board. It was beginning to get embarrassing and the combination of the taste of salt water, his weariness, the guilt and the swell of the waves beneath him were beginning to make him feel sick. 

"This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath. Enough was enough. If Mohammed wouldn't come to the gated community, then the gated community would just have to go to him.

Surveying the approaching waves behind him, Sandy selected his ride and started to paddle for position. Feeling the water swell beneath him, Sandy planted his feet on his board with conviction and took the wave whole, as if he was driving the water home to shore rather than being driven by it. The wave fading, he tipped himself gently into the water, reached under the surface to detangle the leash from his ankle and walked determinedly on to the beach.

His gaze fixed on his feet, Sandy headed towards his car, his mind whirring with plans of action, each one as fragmented and flawed and discarded as quickly as the one before.

"Hey."

His concentration broken, Sandy stopped short as he recognized Kirsten sitting on the bonnet of the Land Rover, her own car parked perfectly next to it.

"Hey," Sandy replied, his voice reflecting the unexpected pleasure of seeing his wife at surfing time, even as he registered the worried frown on her face, the perfect mirror of his own. "You've not come for surfing lessons have you?"

"No," Kirsten replied with a tired smile, handing him the neatly folded towel from beside her.

"It's Ryan, isn't it?"

Kirsten nodded. The emotion of the last twenty-four hours, the last twenty-four days and more finally catching up with her, she inhaled sharply, as if she might cry.

"Hey, come on, " Sandy said gently, touching her arm gently before tucking her hair behind her ear, stroking the side of her face as he tried to exhibit a calmness he neither felt now nor had for many weeks. "Just tell me. Did something happen? Something else? He's not hurt, is he, or-"

Kirsten looked abruptly back at Sandy, who jerked his hand away in surprise at the sudden movement. "- God, no, he's not hurt. He's okay. But I can't do this anymore, Sandy. I won't. I want him home. I want both of them home." Her emotion raw and brittle, Kirsten reached for her husband's hand again, studying its roughened contours, sticky with sand as her eyes itched with tears unbidden. "You know that I love you. And I don't blame you for this summer anymore than I blame myself. But it's not home without them and I'm sick of pretending that it is."

"I know. Me too. You're right."

"He was arrested, last night."

"Dammit," Sandy snorted. "Fighting?"

Kirsten shook her head. "Video piracy. They all were-"

"- Dammit!"

Anger and frustration and inadequacy howled inside of him and he struck out, wrenching his hand from Kirsten and pounded the top of the Land Rover. "Dammit!"

Turning on the nearest front wheel of the car, Sandy vented his rage with a succession of kicks, each harder than the one before, until the last one hit home and he swore violently. Limping around in a circle, now just as angry with himself as he was with his situation and that of his family. "Stupid piece of crap. Christ, that hurts."

Shaking it off, he sighed and looked sheepishly at Kirsten. She slid off the front of the Land Rover, more brightened than concerned by his outburst. She knew her husband. "Better?"

"Yeah." Sandy smiled slightly back at her as he continued to shake off the sting in his foot. "Ryan." he asked finally. "Can I fix it for him?"

"I think so. Yes."

"Okay. Okay." Sandy thought out loud as he pushed the anger away and focused on the situation at hand. First thing was to get out of his surf gear; nothing screamed pushover like a limping beach bum.

"I brought your gray suit and the shoes." Kirsten said, deciphering his expression. "Change, and we'll go straight down there."

"You're the best wife ever, you know that?"

"I know."

He started towards Kirsten's car, grimacing amusedly as his foot protested. "You're also driving."

"Know that too."

Sandy smiled gratefully at Kirsten, even as the worry crept back unbidden across their expressions. "We will. We'll fix it."

* * *

The air was stale, cold and dry as Seth watched the last of his summer slip away beneath the thickening cloud. He was hungry, but looking at, or more precisely, smelling, the regimented trays of homogenized, pasteurized, packaged and processed food around him, Seth knew he could no more eat what the airline had to offer than he could clear the clouds beneath him for one last view of Mexico. 

Selling his bike or "The Mighty One", as he'd somewhat privately and pretentiously referred to her, had been like all stages of his journey, ridiculously easy.

The Summer Breeze had hitched a one-way trip to Tahiti on boat God-knows-how-many times her size, with his own, return, passage paid for with sweat as a deckhand. Ten days on the island paid for by washing down yachts the like of which would have put Newport's finest to shame and back in Acapulco, the Breeze now further away than home, he'd found Tim, a traveler like himself, and The Mighty One.

After the welcome solitude and peace of the road, Seth had briefly flirted with the idea of riding The Mighty One all the way home, but the distance, the legalities and the constant embarrassment at his piss-poor Spanish had put paid to that idea almost as quickly as it had formed. Seth also found the idea of ever being allowed out of the house ever again quite attractive and so had found another traveler in Guadalajara with motorcycle-shaped dreams of their own to fulfill and had sold her too. Now all that remained was a thousand miles, a border and a thousand apologies and he'd be home.

It seemed so strange.

Stranger still, now that he was going back, was that he was calm. Ridiculously calm. There was no doubt, no doubt whatsoever, that he was returning home to the most gut wrenching conversation he and his parents had ever shared. Everyone in his life that he cared about, he had hurt. Selfishly, callously and deliberately, without question. But unnecessarily? Not even Seth knew for sure the answer to that one. What he did know, finally, was that he didn't doubt himself anymore. That he didn't regret at least one thing he did, one thing he said every single day anymore. That he didn't hate himself anymore. Before Tahiti, before Mexico, he couldn't remember the last time he felt like that.

Whatever else happened, between home and high waters, that was one place to which Seth knew he would never go back.

Leaning again against the small window, Seth watched the mountains far below, saw how they were beginning to diminish with every mile he traveled closer to home, and smiled.

"There's no place like home," he murmured softly to himself, without irony, sarcasm, self-indulgence or bitterness. For the first time in the years, he truly believed it. He could fix this.

* * *

Against all probability, Ryan slept. Back in the interview room, the weariness of the last twenty-four hours had finally caught up with him and pulled him down wholeheartedly into sleep and neither the drunken ramblings of his unsavory neighbors nor the unsuitability of the room's metal furniture as his bed was going to make a difference. Without stirring Ryan from his respite, the interview room door opened and the protestations of his fellow outlaws grew momentarily louder. Closing it gently to behind him, Sandy took one look at Ryan slouched forward, his head resting in the crook of one arm, his body still and calm in sleep and smiled. He hadn't seen him look this relaxed in months. 

Quietly, so as not wake him harshly, Sandy pulled the chair across from Ryan out from under the metal bench and sat down. Lightly, he reached across the table and laid his hand on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing it to rouse him.

"Ryan? Ryan? Are you with me?"

At Sandy's touch, Ryan jolted and stirred sluggishly. He frowned as lifted his head and wiped at the imagined drool gathered at the corners of his mouth, as if he was trying to work out if Sandy was real or a mirage, left over from a fading dream.

The mirage reached for Ryan's cuffed hand, took it in his own and sighed. "You know, when I said we had to stop meeting like this, I wasn't just being cute."

"You're here?"

"I am. And so are you. Which I am less than thrilled about and believe me when we when I say we will be discussing this later, but it's not for much longer."

"I really screwed it up this time," Ryan grunted viciously to himself, pulling his chained away from Sandy with a jerk, rubbing his forehead deliberately with the heel of his free hand. "It's all such a mess, you shouldn't have to-"

"- Hey." Sandy interrupted firmly. "Hey. No. Stop. This is what I do. This is what lawyers do. This is what dads do."

Ryan looked up at him, not knowing if was hearing correctly, or if he even wanted to. Sensing and sharing Ryan's uncertainty, Sandy half-smiled at him with a shrug of his shoulders.

"They do. Whether they're related to their kids or not."

Grateful for Sandy's words but still unsure of how to respond to them, Ryan returned Sandy's half-smile and rested his head back on his hand, looking down at the table.

Subconsciously echoing his posture, Sandy sighed again. "We've been so worried about you, you know."

"I know," Ryan replied on impulse.

"I'm not just talking about the baby and Theresa and all of that, although obviously that's been a huge part of it, you're much too young to be taking on even half of what you've been taking on, but -" Determined to get this right first time round, Sandy stopped and started again. "When you left last night, I know it wasn't just about last night, or us, Theresa, there's something else. It's been eating at you for months, before any of this." Sandy faltered, suddenly afraid he was jumping to conclusion that wasn't his to draw. "Am I right?"

For the longest time, Ryan said nothing. Feeling like he'd swallowed a box of jumping beans, Sandy felt his good foot twitching up and down as he waited for the boy opposite him to find the words he was so obviously looking for.

"We got some new books in at work the other day," Ryan said finally, without looking up, his stillness a direct and eerie contrast to the older man studying him. Finding his voice, he continued, "I picked up this play, I was just killing time, but I ended up reading the whole thing, just standing there in the middle of the library like an idiot."

"What was it?"

"The Pillowman?" said Ryan hesitantly, looking atSandy momentarily, as if to check he wasn't been laughed at.

His guardian's face was the definition of sincerity. "Strange title."

Ryan frowned in agreement. "I know. It's a strange play. It's about a man, a storyteller who lives in this 1984 type world and he tells his brother all these tales and they're mostly twisted, but the brother loves them. One of the stories is about this fairytale creature, made completely out of pillows, who looks after children who are going to grow up to lead horrible lives. And he comes to them and he tells them about all the things that are going to happen to them, and then he offers them a choice; they can grow up and live their lives knowing what's going to happen, or go with him, find pills, or play in the river. Make it stop before it happens. And the children don't grow up."

He stopped, staring down at the table, feeling cold inside with confusion and loneliness. "It was so stupid, I ended up just standing there in the middle of the library, really, like an idiot, with all these books around me, and my shift has finished ten minutes ago and all I can think about it, is I wish that he'd come for me. I would have gone with him."

Ryan looked up at Sandy, saw the compassion and shared sadness in his face and was immediately embarrassed by it. "It's stupid."

"No, it's not," Sandy said without hesitation. "It's not stupid. It's sad. And-"

"- Strange?"

"Definitely strange. And a million other things this logical lawyer is terrible at finding the right words for."

"I'm still on stupid," Ryan replied with a Seth-like grunt, more angry with himself than Sandy. His irritation growing, he began dragging his cuffed hand up and down the metal rail once more. "I just don't know how I got here."

"Do you know what?" said Sandy suddenly with authority, clamping his hand down on Ryan's abruptly halting the screech. "Nobody does."

Surprised and unsettled by Sandy's sudden shift in tone, Ryan gave him his full attention.

"Eighteen months ago I had one son I didn't understand and now I have two. If somebody had told me I was going to end up being the guardian of some kid I'd met in juvie, I would have told them they were confusing me with my mother and thank them kindly not to do it again. But somehow it all worked out. You worked out. Kirsten and I stopped worrying we were going to find another stash of pills in Seth's bedroom and if I stopped worrying that she'd decide she wanted to be a fully fledged Newpsie Wasp after all, which is ridiculous, because really she's just as baffled by her life as I am by mine."

Now bouncing at three hundred plus beats per minute, Sandy's foot came to an abrupt stop as its owner came to his point.

"What I'm trying to say, Ryan is this: Nobody is perfect. Everybody makes mistakes; Kicking the car this morning was a little one. Letting you go this summer? That was a colossal one. I'm not sure what it is that made me want to help you more than any other of the kids I've worked with, or what made you call me after you're mom kicked you out. But I am so glad, so that you did. You and me, we found each other Ryan, and we're family now. All of us. You have to trust in family, in whatever form it takes. So that if you make mistakes we can put them right together. And try not to make them again."

Sandy looked at Ryan, relief and confidence flooding through him as he saw he was taking it in. Maybe even agreeing. His foot started to bounce again.

"I'm going to sort this out. And you're going to come home with Kirsten and me, where you belong. And if that means bringing Theresa and her mother and an entire delegation of maiden aunts with you than so be it. It'll be a tight squeeze in the poolhouse, but we'll work it out, okay?"

Ryan nodded. And smiled. "Okay."

"Okay?"

He nodded again. "Okay."

"Okay."

Satisfied, Sandy's foot ground to a halt. "Good. That's settled then. Now I'm going to go talk to Theresa, see if I can't find a way through all of this."

Standing up, Sandy limped round the table and gave Ryan a whole hearted and lengthy hug, before breaking away and studying him at arms length, scowling with exaggerated sternness as he gently touched his thumb over Ryan's latest black eye.

"This is the last time I want to see this look on you too, you hear? The neighbors will think we raised a ruffian."

Ryan grinned back, "Yeah, 'cause that limp just screams dignity."

"Don't even," Sandy replied good-naturedly, "This is the result of manly frustration."

Ryan raised a finally honed skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm not kidding; I think I broke my toe." Sandy smiled and gently touched his hand to Ryan's forehead, before pulling him back into another hug.

"What are we going to do with you?" he asked almost rhetorically he said as he felt Ryan relax into his shoulder, surrendering at last, allowing Sandy to pull him close.

Saying nothing as they squeezed it each other tight, Ryan eventually looked up at Sandy, finally ready to take what had been first offered to him so many months ago. "Please?" he asked, his voice small with exhaustion, "Just take me home?"

* * *

_  
I have no right to ask anybody to read and review, given how long I've been taking between chapters, but I would love it if anybody did. Thank you._


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: I hope to have the last chapter up shortly after this one.

* * *

"_And just because you think you're never going home,  
__Don't mean that you'll never arrive."  
__Move On, Jet_

* * *

Kirsten sat on the hard wooden bench, her eyes closed, lost in her thoughts as she absent-mindedly traced her fingers around the edge of one of the several evenly spaced holes intended to prevent those who found themselves on the wrong side of the law from bolting. This bench, this waiting area, the two interview rooms next door, the cells down the corridor; they were all so alien to her. Despite her own youthful misadventures, it had never really crossed her mind before Ryan that she would ever find herself or her loved ones on the wrong side of the law. It just honestly never occurred to her; they weren't that kind of family. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Now her dad was being investigated by the D.A.'s office, Ryan had been arrested again and in all honesty, she had absolutely no clue what Seth had been up to lately but it wouldn't be the greatest surprise in the world if some of it was less than one hundred percent legal.

It was different though, now. Ryan had changed them all, without even realizing. Somehow, without even noticing she had become one of those other kind of families; the ones that took life, luck and prosperity for granted. Even despite Seth's unhappiness, and in turn Sandy's and her own, there were just certain baselines that Kirsten had always assumed would be there. Having Ryan had woken her up from that. Her refreshed outlook on her Newport living was just one of a million other reasons that Ryan meant the world to her. The gaping ache of hurt in her heart when he'd left them, first at the beginning of the summer and again last night, just served to reiterate it.

"Mrs. Cohen?"

Kirsten opened her eyes and looked across in the direction of the familiar voice. Sitting down at the other end of the bench was Theresa, her sad eyes circled darkly with recently shed tears.

"Theresa. Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm fine," said Theresa in surprise at the warm reception from Kirsten.

"Really?"

"Well, not really," Theresa said, drawing Kirsten's gaze down to her wrist, cuffed to the bench, "But I don't think I'm in a position to ask for sympathy, right?"

Awkwardly, Kirsten smiled a little, unsure of what to say.

"That's what I thought." Her voice cracking, Theresa started to cry, "I am so sorry."

Kirsten knew she was supposed to be angry with Theresa, for having embroiled Ryan in this mess. But truthfully, she just didn't have it in her. With her head hung forward, her beautifully dark long hair framing her face, Theresa looked every bit as sad, every bit as lonely and every bit as lost as Ryan had sounded when they'd talked on the phone earlier that morning. Without thinking, Kirsten moved towards her and wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders, letting her cry into her own.

Letting her cry her way out, Kirsten tucked a stray strand of Theresa's hair behind her ear and kissed her gently on the head. "It's going to be okay, you know. Sandy's sorted out worse than this."

"He was never supposed to find out, you know?" Theresa said finally, sitting up a little and wiping at her eyes. "Not that it makes it better. Ryan, he's done so much for me, even before this."

Theresa looked at Kirsten, trying to find the right way to explain the unexplainable.

"You ever have one of those friends who are just so much part of your life, you can't imagine ever being without them? They just are, like in every part of you. When you remember growing up, or being at school, they're in every memory, even the ones they shouldn't be and you don't even know why?"

Kirsten nodded.

"It's used to be like that for us. I thought if I could get enough money, we could go back to that. He'd wouldn't have to work so hard, the only thing we'd have to worry about would be raising our child the right way."

"I understand," Kirsten replied, beginning really to comprehend the full emotional scope of Ryan's quandary for the first time. "I'm not saying I agree with your methods, but I get it."

"Really?" Theresa replied with more than a hint of uncertainty.

"It's different for us," said Kirsten, her gaze resting on Theresa's gentle bump, "When I was pregnant with Seth, I knew that everything I'd felt before then was just a shadow of what I was feeling now. And I was lucky, I had Sandy, we were both more or less out of college, and even though neither of us were exactly getting along with our families, we had enough support between us to know that the money side of things would be okay."

Kirsten stopped, trying to make sure Theresa heard her words in the way they were intended.

"My point is, I know how truly terrifying it is to wake up each morning and worry about if I'm going to be good enough, if I'm going to be strong enough and even if I'm not, if he's going to stay with me."

Theresa looked at Kirsten her eyes wide in surprise that somebody like that understood what it was like to be somebody like her.

Kirsten shrugged off Theresa's surprise and looked back at her levelly, "I know what it's like to say, "I would do anything for my child," and mean it."

Theresa looked down again, and subconsciously touched her hand lightly to her small rounding of her belly.

"Even after everything that's happened, I can't believe I ever thought about not having this baby."

To unsure of her own thoughts and feelings to respond, Kirsten remained silent, her fingers straying once again to one of the holes in the bench.

Watching Kirsten trace patterns next to her, Theresa struggled to process all that had happened in the last few days. Pulling her thoughts together at last, she frowned and looked back up at Kirsten abruptly.

"Why are you being so nice to me? All I've ever done is cause trouble for you and your family."

"Believe me, we can manage that one all by ourselves," Kirsten said with a sigh as her thoughts drifted momentarily to Seth. "We both know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hurt and angry when Ryan chose you over us this summer. And no matter what your reasons, getting involved in whatever exactly it is you've got yourself into was stupid and selfish, especially given how hard Ryan has worked to put that behind him."

Taking a moment to dull her growing frustration, Kirsten looked at Theresa and saw her determination not to start crying again. She sighed.

"But none of that matters now. For one thing, because if I were in your place, I can't honestly say I wouldn't have considered doing the same. And because for another, whatever else has happened or might happen, I know you love Ryan just as much as we do."

Not seeing the point of disputing the indisputable, Theresa laid herself open, her voice catching. "Yeah. He kind of has that effect on people."

Ignoring the metal chain tethering Theresa to a life she didn't deserve, Kirsten reached out and took the girl's hand in her own. "And your mom's on her way?"

"Yeah. She's coming back from her sister's. It's a drive though, so I don't know when she'll get here."

"We'll wait with you."

"You don't have to do that-"

"- It's okay," Kirsten said with kind firmness. "We've got time."

"Thank you."

Their fund of words almost completely emptied, Kirsten and Theresa sat next to one another, content to let silence take over. Down the corridor, one of the doors opened and a police officer sternly directed a disgruntled Jay towards the heavyset door that led to the cells. Feeling Theresa bristle beside her, Kirsten gave Theresa's hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"He was trying to blame it all on Ryan, you know. Jay. "Theresa said after a moment, her eyes following Jay's departing figure. "Said Ryan's brother had hooked him up with his connections from inside."

Kirsten frowned, "I didn't know Trey was- I mean, I thought it was just cars-"

"- It is," said Theresa, rescuing Kirsten from her awkwardness. "Jay was just trying to cause trouble. _Hijo de puta_," she cursed before remembering her company. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Kirsten replied, smiling at the brief flash of the gutsy Theresa she remembered from the spring. "Seems like an accurate description to me."

They smiled at each other. Seeing the police officer who had been escorting Jay return from the cells and head in their direction, Theresa let go of Kirsten's hand. "Looks like my ride's here."

"Wait for Sandy before you tell them anything else."

"It's okay. I know what I've got to say."

"Theresa-"

"- I promise not to sign anything, alright?" Theresa interrupted determinedly as the police officer released her from the bench before taking her hands behind her back once more. "I have to do this."

Seeing that Theresa's mind was made up, Kirsten nodded. "Okay."

"Will you tell him I'm sorry?"

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you."

Allowing the police officer to lead her away again, Theresa looked back at Kirsten, her calm veneer only barely remaining in tact.

"Please don't wait for me. It'll just make things harder for him."

Uncertain of what to say Kirsten nodded again in agreement. Left alone once more, Kirsten sighed and closed her eyes. Despite the circumstances and the undeniable degree of animosity she felt towards Theresa right now, she couldn't bring herself to hate her. Everything they had spoken about was true; there was nothing she wouldn't do for Seth, and now Ryan too. It was just the way of things. Now all she had to do was find a way to get them both home, to stay.

Interrupted from her private machinations by the sound of a heavy door pulling back, Kirsten opened her eyes. Across the hall from the interview room that Jay had vacated, Sandy emerged with Ryan, his hand resting reassuringly on Ryan's shoulder, the teenager's own hands remaining conspicuously behind his back as an officer flanked him in the direction of Kirsten's resting place.

Offering a smile of greeting as she stood to meet them, Kirsten made a deliberate effort to draw Ryan's gaze away from the floor.

"Hey there."

"Hey honey," said Sandy, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek as the officer accompanying Ryan cuffed him to the bench.

Ignoring Ryan's unwillingness to make eye contact with her, Kirsten sat down next to him and turned his head gently towards her. "You okay?"

Feeling the ever-present lump of emotion rise in his chest again, Ryan frowned as he murmured quietly in response, "Not really."

"Yeah, me neither," Kirsten said honestly as she drew Ryan's head towards her and kissed him on the forehead before pulling him into a hug just as she had with Theresa a little earlier. "What's going on?" She asked, turning to Sandy.

"They're debating the obvious," he replied with a sarcastic grunt. "Circumstantial evidence, no motive, hardly any opportunity and the absolute denial of Ryan's involvement from Theresa; it's a stumper."

"Is she okay?" asked Ryan quietly at the mention of Theresa. "They wouldn't let me see her."

"She's fine," Kirsten told him with a reassuring squeeze of his shoulders. "I'll fill you in in a moment."

"Thanks."

"Sandy?" Kirsten persisted. "Can we take him home?"

"I'm pretty sure they're just going through the motions. I'll go see if I can speed things up a little." Sandy smiled at reassuringly in Ryan's direction. "Okay, kid?"

"Yeah," Ryan nodded, returning Sandy's smile with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Sandy limped back towards the interview rooms, leaving Kirsten alone with Ryan and his self-loathing. Not wanting to invade his traditionally closely-guarded personal space, she let her hand fall from his shoulders and rubbing his back a little in passing, before closing her right hand around his left.

"You look tired," she said as she felt his fist flex gratefully beneath her palm.

"I didn't get much sleep-" Ryan admitted before looking at her properly. "I'm so sorry, the things I said last night-"

"- Can wait until later," said Kirsten resolutely. Accepting Ryan's small sigh of response as a sign of thanks, she squeezed his hand again.

His head filling again with the desire to sleep, Ryan rubbed at each of his eyes in turn with his thumb, wincing involuntarily a little as he flexed the lightly bruised knuckles.

"What happened to your hand?" Kirsten asked noticing. "And come to that, your face?"

"I got into a fight."

"Oh Ryan," Kirsten sighed, with disappointment. "We can't leave you alone for five minutes, can we?"

"I'm sorry," whispered Ryan quietly, letting his head and gaze drop downwards, reestablishing his relationship with the tile.

"Not with the police, though? Right?" Kirsten asked him directly, prodding his leg when he didn't respond. "Hey. Please tell me you haven't been fighting police officers."

Ryan shook his head, embarrassment preventing him from looking at her, "Just Jay."

"Well, that's something I guess."

Ryan frowned, not entirely convinced it matted. As far as he was concerned, who he'd been fighting didn't matter, just by doing it he'd let Kirsten and Sandy down again. His first instinct on seeing Jay had been to knock him into next week, screw the consequences; it was a self-destructive and aggressive streak that he hated and worried him in equal measure. Luke, Oliver, Eddie, now Jay. Just how many more times was he going to channel his inner A.J. and disappoint the Cohens?

"So did you win?"

"Not really," the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly in spite of himself at Kirsten's deliberately jovial tone as he glanced at her momentarily.

"Do me favor, Ryan," Kirsten said leaning her head back against the wall, "When you get home, I want you try and stop fighting, and I don't just mean the normal adolescent male kind of fighting, I mean us, I mean fighting yourself all the time. Fighting your choices."

Feeling himself cracking inside and out, Ryan looked at her sideways again, not even knowing how he felt, let alone what he should say, searching her expression for answers.

Sensing his confusion, Kirsten placed her arm across his shoulders again. "You don't have to say anything now. Just promise you'll try."

His emotional and physical reserves at last exhausted, Ryan leaned back defeatedly, letting his head drop into Kirsten's shoulder. Their mutual understanding insulating them from the harshness of their surroundings, they said nothing as they squeezed each other tight, Kirsten touching the back of his head lightly with her hand even as he butted subconsciously against her shoulder in frustration.

"I don't want to do this anymore. I can't."

"It's okay; we're not going to let you."

Letting his tired eyes close, Ryan felt like that maybe this time, he stood a chance.

* * *

To the relief of all three of them, Sandy was correct in his predictions and the police had released Ryan without charge within the hour, with an embargo on returning to the house until it had been cleared as a crime scene and a strong suggestion that he re-evaluated the company he kept.

Kirsten's smooth driving, the warm late afternoon sun and Sandy's rhythmic snoring up front were kindly conducive to sleep and he'd dozed most of the way back to Newport, only waking up as they pulled in through the main entrance of their gated community. No matter how many times he drove through this way, he couldn't help but wonder when he might start to get used to it.

"You never do," said Sandy, almost eerily reading his mind.

"What?" said Ryan, wondering if he'd heard right.

"Get to used it," Sandy said. "It's been over ten years now and I still can't forget that it's the complete antithesis of what I imagined home would be when I was a kid."

"Of course, that's mainly 'cause you imagined you'd be living in the penthouse of the Rockefeller Center," teased Kirsten.

"Well, that's true," chuckled Sandy, twisting to look back at Ryan in the back seat. "It took me a long time to realize that a home is a lot more than bricks and mortar; it's people. Family."

"Oh, God," said Kirsten in mock disgust even as Ryan's brow furrowed skeptically, "I think I'm going to throw up."

"Hey!" Sandy protested, turning back to his wife "You're destroying a beautiful moment, here honey. Here I am trying to prove to Ryan that being one of us doesn't necessarily mean being one of them and you're making vomit references. Totally raining on my parade."

"Throwing up on it actually," Kirsten replied cheerfully without remorse.

Ryan smiled as his guardians bickered good-naturedly in the front. "Trust me, you don't have to prove anything to me. I get it."

Catching his eye in the rear-view mirror, Kirsten returned the smile, saying nothing as she pulled into the driveway and drove up towards the house.

"Oh my God," Sandy muttered suddenly, drawing Ryan and Kirsten's attention to the front of the house.

There, getting to his lanky feet and walking to meet the approaching car, was Seth.

Pulling the car to an abrupt stop, Kirsten barely took the time to pull the handbrake on before jumping out of the car and enveloping Seth in a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry Mom," he said, as she broke away for a moment and studied him at arm's length before pulling him back close again.

"Don't- Just don't, okay?" she whispered with a slight yet unmistakable trace of anger even as tears burst out unwarranted from her. "Not right now."

Coming up beside them, Sandy took a moment to take in the sight of Seth back with them. There was something undeniably different about his son, and it wasn't just the five o'clock shadow, or the sun-touched darkening of his skin. There was an almost palpable aura of maturity, of contentment, surrounding Seth, and Sandy drank it in.

"Dad?" Seth asked nervously the aura blurring as his father's gaze examined him.

"Come here," said Sandy taking Seth whole into his arms, his hand touching the mess of curls that had grown even more wild and frizzy during Seth's adventures. "Do you have any idea how much we missed you?"

"About as much as I missed you?"

"Something like that."

"Ryan?" Seth muttered rhetorically, catching sight of him for the first time as he took the keys out of the ignition where Kirsten had left them swinging and shut the car door. Walking towards the Cohens, Ryan couldn't help but feel like the top-heavy end of an equation.

"Keys," he said, throwing them at Sandy, who caught them neatly.

"Thanks."

Seth smiled at Ryan, sensing a story behind his friend's tired eyes, trying to walk the fine line between relief at his return and intrusive worry at the reason for it.

"You're back?"

"Yeah, you too."

"Come on guys, don't make out like you're too manly to hug this one out," said Sandy sensing the unfamiliar awkwardness between the two and attempting to dissipate by giving Ryan a friendly nudge in Seth's direction.

Taking the initiative, Seth stepped over to Ryan and hugged him enthusiastically, "I don't know what brought you back, but I'm really glad you are."

"Me too," replied Ryan honestly, returning the gesture, despite his reservations.

Dropping his voice so only Ryan could hear, Seth added, "And I should have done this when you left."

His shoulders stiffening, "Yeah, you should," Ryan whispered in similarly muffled tones before breaking away.

Seeing a flicker of the old self-conscious Seth glimmering through at his words, Ryan felt guilt rise to join his anger, relief and confusion at seeing his other, less-related-to-him brother again.

"I think this calls for a prodigious amount of Thai food," said Sandy, retrieving Seth's duffel bag from the porch and unlocking the front door as Kirsten pulled both boys in close for a three-way bear hug.

"Sounds good to me," Kirsten agreed, leading them back into the house, trying to work out where to go from here.

Pak Choi. It seemed as good a start as any.

* * *

_Read? Review? I'm tired. One more chapter._


End file.
